Ezri Dax leaned forward in the Defiant bridge’s command chair upon hearing that Verad’s terrorist cell was planning an attack on Deep Space Nine. It was an instinctive reaction, even if she had lived eight other lifetimes. The Defiant’s function was merely to listen in and come to Sisko’s rescue if he was in any danger. Sisko was only one person assigned to deliver covert intelligence, but now the whole station was in danger. None of Dax’s hosts, past or present, could fathom putting so many civilian lives in jeopardy, even if Ezri risked blowing Sisko’s cover.

“That’s going to be a little difficult,” Escobar replied, while attempting to comply with the younger officer’s orders. “The surrounding plasma storms are interfering with long range communications.”

Ezri detected a hint of sarcasm in his voice. She rolled her eyes, biting her lower lip to keep herself from uttering one of Curzon or Jadzia’s witty retorts. She had learned from similar exchanges that such responses would only egg him on. “We have to try, Lieutenant,” she just said calmly. To the youthful blonde male ensign at conn, she said, “Helm, move us out of the plasma field, but slowly.”

From the tactical station, Sam Bowers grinned at Escobar, regarding his latest efforts to get under Ezri’s skin. Both middle-aged men were Starfleet veterans who received battlefield commission during the Dominion War. The difference between them was that Escobar was in the Maquis prior to the war, while Bowers had been a noncom for fifteen years. Bowers had known of Escobar’s penchant for seeing how easily he could annoy superior officers, especially those of lesser age, throughout his brief Starfleet career.

Doctor Bashir had been called to the station’s holding cell after the arrest of the Nausicaan. Lieutenant Ro reported that the Nausicaan, upon being incarcerated behind a forcefield, had lost consciousness. He was not dead since he still had a pulse. Bashir had confirmed this while running tricorder of the prisoner. “He looks to be in a kind of self-induced hibernation,” he said with a puzzled look. He could not deduce from his tricorder readings whether this was a natural trait in Nausicaans or the result of some artificial implants.

“Can you bring him out of it?” Ro asked from outside the cell.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” the doctor replied. “Any kind of stimulants could cause severe brain damage. Then he wouldn’t be able to reveal any information of interest.”

“Thank you anyway, Doctor,” Ro said with a frustrated sigh.
Bashir then stepped through the forcefield with the help of a sensor that was tuned to his combadge.

As the doctor was leaving, Th’Helek stepped into the cellblock to hand Ro a padd. She read several lines of data on the display, and her eyes widened. Her expression of surprise soon became a devious grin.

Outside the security office on the Promenade, Ro explained her department’s latest breakthrough to Kira. “Surveillance logs indicate a sxiteen hour blackout in Cargo Bay Twelve,” she said. “According to Nog, it’s in no way related to the sensor glitches in the sections of the habitat ring adjacent to the VIP quarters. After looking over the cargo manifests, we found merchandise being delivered to Quark.”

Kira scoffed. That Quark was involved in illegal business practices throughout his time on the station was no surprise. More recently, though, Quark’s establishment became the Ferengi embassy, so that he could continue his business in the Federation’s moneyless economy. “Has he been arrested yet?” Kira asked eagerly.

“He’s in the security office,” Ro replied with a smile. “We’re waiting to see how much he’ll reveal.”

Kira and Ro entered the office where Quark sat in a guest chair chatting with a male Bajoran deputy. “Ah, it’s about time you got here, Captain,” the Ferengi said upon seeing Kira. “I hope you told the Lieutenant here that I was dealing in legitimate merchandise.”

“Save it,” Kira snapped, leaning against the front of the desk. “The sensor blackout happened at the same time an Yridian trader came to the bar after it was closed.”

“I meet with many business partners after hours,” Quark innocently insisted. “Everyone knows that. Besides, I have diplomatic immunity.”

“Which is revocable if you are suspected of compromising station security,” Kira added.

“If I was arrested every time I ‘compromised station security”, I’d have spent most of the last fourteen years in jail, or worse…”

Those last words caught both Kira’s and Ro’s attention. The station had been under Cardassian control for the first five years Quark resided there. The Cardassians were a race that valued order and security above anything else. And they had lower tolerance for illegal business practices than the Federation. “He’s got us there,” Ro remarked to Kira.

Quark grinned triumphantly and headed for the door. “I guess I’ll be going now,” he proclaimed.

“Hold on,” Ro said firmly.

Quark stopped in his tracks, realizing this release had strings attached.

“We’d consider not pressing charges,” Ro continued, “if you give some information that might help in an investigation.”
“I’m listening.”

Before either Bajoran could speak, the comm chimed. “Ops to Captain Kira,” said a feminine voice over the speakers.

“Go ahead,” Kira replied.

“Message from: Lieutenant Dax on the Defiant.”

“I’ll take it in my office.”

Verad and his group who had stowed away on a Kobheerian freighter bound for Deep Space Nine in the primary cargo hold. In addition to Verad and Sisko, a younger blonde male Trill and a male Orion were tying together, fidgeting with sets of three metallic rods. The group set up a hideout using stacked together cargo containers; almost like a makeshift fort a child would assemble using empty boxes.

Sisko gave each rod he had he used to assemble an explosive a thorough visual inspection. He did not see any mechanical circuit boards that made up the interior of a typical explosive device. When he observed that Runold was packing them too tightly, they were missing one very important ingredient: some kind of explosive substance to pack into the rods. “I’ve noticed you have the casings,” he observed aloud, “but not the actual explosives.”

“We have the ultritium waiting for us at the station,” Verad explained. “An Yridian trader smuggled them aboard with an insider getting it past station security.”

“Isn’t ultritium virtually undetectable by conventional sensors and transporter filters?” Sisko replied. He knew that not to be the case with recent improvements in sensor technology. He was feigning ignorance of that fact, mostly for the benefit of Verad’s other henchmen.

“You’d have been able to say that ten years ago. Sensor technology is improving everyday.”

And methods of circumventing sensors with them. Sisko knew immediately who the “insider” to which Verad referring was. Quark had once crashed key security sensors in order arrange a meeting with a Klingon smuggler. As it turned out, the smuggler in question was working for Verad, and that group was able to take hostages without alerting the crew in Ops. Sisko began to envision turning Quark over to Starfleet authorities for allowing yet another one of Verad’s schemes to be carried out. But that could wait. At least Quark was acting out of selfish desire to make a huge profit rather than out of malice, and Sisko’s family was not in any danger.

The other Trill and the Orion slowly crept away in order to stand watch at the cargo hold entrance. Verad waited until they were out of earshot before turning to address Sisko. “So what was this promise you made to Jadzia while she was on her death bed?” he asked.

Luckily, Sisko had already rehearsed his answer on the trip to Torvin Five. “I said I would help right wrongs of Trill society,” Sisko replied, while continuing to assemble explosive charges. “During a visit to Trill, we learned that Dax that a host between Torias and Curzon for six months. And the Symbiosis Commission was prepared to sacrifice Jadzia to cover it up.”

“Only one in ten Trill are eligible to be joined,” Verad said, recalling the Commission’s claim. “The Neo-Purists believed it was more, but that was just dismissed as conspiracy theory.”

And hopefully that would continue, Sisko mused silently. When Sisko learned that the mentally unstable Joran Belar had been a host to the Dax symbiont, Doctor Renhol at the Symbiosis Commission warned him of the disastrous ramifications of revealing a secret this damning to the general populace. “Practiced by the government of a Federation member planet,” Sisko added. While such a thought was genuinely disturbing to him, he could do nothing more than file a protest with the Federation Council. Everything from that point was just political maneuvering.

Captain Kira stepped into her office from a side door that allowed her to avoid having to go through Ops. She could never get used to thinking of this office as her office. Benjamin Sisko made it his own for nearly seven years, while she was only station CO for just two and a half years.

A Starfleet insignia was on the desk monitor’s screen. Below were instructions to enter an authorization code. Kira did just that, and Ezri then appeared on the screen. “Ah, Captain,” the youthful Trill said. “Good. I’m calling to warn that Kalon’s terrorist cell is planning an attack on DS9. I know that Sisko’s mission is to learn the Neo-Purist’s connection to the Ku-Vok-leth. I still felt that I had to speak up. “

Ezri spoke confidently, but Kira could still detect some uneasiness in her voice. “You were right to contact me,” Kira replied. “How long before they get here?”

“They’re en route on a Kobheerian freighter, which is a lot slower than the Defiant. Our ETA is six hours. Benjamin’s gone dark since then.”

“All right,” Kira sighed, dreading the decision she had to make. “I’ll see you when you get back. Kira out.”

Six hours. Six hours to decide how to proceed with an evacuation of the station. However, a complete evacuation would alert the Neo-Purists that someone in their organization tipped off the station. “Kira to Commander Vaughn and Lieutenant Ro,” Kira said, tapping her combadge. “Report to my office right away.”

Crewman Doran and his Yridian partner were in the process of loading the ultritium explosives onto Cargo Bay Twelve’s transporter pad. The process was an arduous one since neither one of them had great physical strength to carry the heavy containers onto the pad. Ordinarily, Doran would use an anti-gravity harness, but the cargo bay had been sealed off by order of security. Finding an alternative route inside with forcefields closing off additional access points and his authorization codes having been rescinded was hard enough. Doran didn’t dare attract attention by using any electro-magnetic devices.

The Yridian, meanwhile, grumbled in annoyance as he was sliding a cargo container up the ramp to the transporter pad. “I don’t understand why you need my help with this,” he huffed. “I was just paid to bring the explosives aboard.”

“All ships are being detained while security is looking for me,” Doran replied. “You could at least make yourself useful.”

The Yridian scoffed while slowly walking back towards the cargo containers they were having transported to the reactor core. He was planning on being on his next freight run rather than moving containers in a cargo bay declared off-limits.

“He just told me he needed someone to circumvent the security sensors,”

Quark recalled his dealings with the Yridian trader as part of his deal with station security in order to avoid criminal charges. “It was because of the increased difficulty of his smuggling operations with Bajor under Federation jurisdiction.”

“And that’s all he said to you?’ Ro asked skeptically from behind the desk. “Smugglers usually need to cover their tracks by falsifying their cargo manifests.”

“Quark,” Ro snapped. He was clearly being less than truthful something despite his plea agreement, since Quark was not usually this insolent with his interrogators. He had to have been smuggling in weapons or explosives as well.”

“He didn’t tell me,” Quark insisted. “You know how these deals go. We try to ask as few questions as possible.”

Ro sighed, not wanting to be reminded of her time in the Maquis. True, she believed in their cause, but the part of the job she was not always proud of was the theft and smuggling. And now she was here in Deep Space Nine’s security office grilling a Ferengi bartender about a smuggling operation. “You’re sure about that?” she asked. “I need you to be completely truthful if this deal is going to work. What were you getting in return?"

Before Quark could answer, the comm chimed. “Kira to Commander Vaughn and Lieutenant Ro. Report to my office right away.”

Ro tapped her combadge in acknowledgment. “On my way,” she replied. She ascended from her chair and motioned the Andorian officer also present to take her seat. “Ensign th’Helek will finish taking your statement,” she told Quark before exiting the office.

Lieutenant Ro entered Ops through the starboard entryway by the pit to see Commander Vaughn stepping off the nearby turbolift. She had hoped maybe the first officer knew something about this urgent summons. Maybe it was related to the transmission Kira received from the Defiant. Hopefully, it wasn’t anything too serious. “Any idea what this is about?” she asked.

“No idea,” Vaughn replied with a shake of his head.
Once they were inside the office, Kira got straight to the point before the doors finished closing. “We have a problem,” the captain stated. “Captain Sisko’s undercover mission revealed a plan to attack this station.”

“I’ll have security teams begin evacuations,” Ro plainly answered.

“There in lies the problem,” Kira said raising a hand. “If we do evacuate, then the Neo-Purists will likely realize someone on the inside tipped us off.”

Ro winced in confusion, then shot Vaughn a glance to see he did not appear as surprised. “You’re not actually suggesting doing nothing and allowing the attack to go forward?” she asked.

“In these kinds of undercover missions,” Vaughn replied, “agents are faced with these kinds of decisions. They’re never easy…”

“Thank you, Commander,” Kira cut in. Once again addressing Ro, Kira continued. “At the very least get the chancellor, the ambassador, and the bulk of the civilian population out of harm’s way. But try not to make it look like an actual evacuation.”

“That’ll be difficult but doable,” Ro answered somberly. “How long before the attack happens?”

“From what Dax tells me,” Kira replied, “Sisko’s group is on a freighter much slower than the Defiant’s maximum cruising speed. I’d say eight or nine hours.”

“Commander,” Kira continued, addressing Vaughn. “Surely, Starfleet special ops use some of automated transponders to send out false life readings.”

“I might be able to pull some strings with a few former colleagues,” Vaughn answered. “Of course, I’m not exactly on the best of footing with some of those guys after I left.”

“Do whatever you can,” Kira retorted. She noticed Ro in the corner of her eye, suggesting the lieutenant wanted a word with her in private. “You’re dismissed, Commander,” she said plainly, eager to hear what her friend had to say.

“How can you even have any doubts about how to deal with this pending crisis?” Ro snapped, leaning forward to look Kira in the face.

Normally this was no way for an officer to address her captain. Kira tolerated it, knowing this level of assertiveness was a common trait among Bajorans. Ro’s willingness to speak her mind was something her Starfleet colleagues both admired and disparaged. Kira made a point of not responding to Ro’s confrontational approach knowing that she herself had gotten off on the wrong foot with Sisko nine years ago.

“Sit down, Lieutenant,” Kira said calmly.

Ro obliged, knowing Kira was about to recall a story about the Bajoran Resistance.

“During the final five years of the Occupation,” Kira continued, “my resistance cell intercepted coded transmissions regarding plans to wipe out a heavily populated city in order to weed out suspected underground operatives.
If we had warned the population about the attack, the Cardassians would have known we had broken their code.”

“So the attack went forward even knowing what you knew,” Ro stated, anticipating the upshot of this story.

“It’s not something I was particularly proud of. I tried to tell myself we had a tremendous tactical advantage over the Cardassians in the long term.

“Those in the Resistance knew they would have to lay down their lives for the cause of freedom. Starfleet officers are prepared for the same thing. But we have hundreds of civilians on this station, Captain.”

“You’re point is well taken. But I am not going to ask so many people to voluntarily put their lives in danger, so that Captain Sisko can maintain his cover in order to learn of a connection between two terrorist groups that’s tenuous at best, I promised myself that when the Occupation ended that I was finished making those kinds of decisions.”

Ro was already on her way out of the office the comm chimed. “Security to Lieutenant Ro,” th’Helek called. “There’s another sensor blackout in Cargo Bay Twelve.”

“Meet me there,” Ro replied.

Kira leaned forward to listen in on the call. Once Ro headed out, Kira followed.

Th’Helek and Yndar joined Ro and Kira at the cargo bay entrance. The four them entered the hold, phasers in hand, to find the whole place completely empty. The two security deputies panned out in opposite directions to check for anyone hiding in any access hatches. Kira and Ro slowly walked towards the transporter platform.

Ro entered a command on the control console to access the transport logs. Sure enough, the logs had been erased. Ro was actually sort of pleased that the log had been erased.. Otherwise, Doran and any possible co-conspirators had been sloppy. That or it was another misdirection tactic as when the Nausicaan ambushed th’Helek.

“Nothing here,” Ro commented aloud.

“And they were smart to beam away the entire contents of the hold,” Kira added. “They leave behind less potential evidence of having been here.”

“Looks all clear,” th’Helek called to Ro.

“We have to piece together something,” Kira said with a sigh of frustration, as she tapped her combadge. “Kira to Lieutenants Nog and Tenmei. Report to the Cargo Bay Twelve.”

“Within five minutes, Nog and Tenmei arrived as ordered. Tenmei and security deputies scanned every square millimeter of the bay for evidence of people having previously been there. Nog was tasked with trying to reassemble the deleted log. It was a long shot, but old Cardassian files were often retrievable, which often led to deadly consequences. And the Cardassians had a reputation for being thorough, especially to assure that absolutely no residual evidence remained of deleted computer records.

“Whoever erased the log did a thorough job,” said Nog. “They programmed a cascade algorithm to erase anything that could help reassembled the file.”

Tenmei then walked over to deliver her report. From her straight face, Kira wasn’t sure Prynn had good news. From our scans,” the lieutenant reported, “we found traces of dolamide, polyferranide, tri-nitrogen chloride, tetracyanate 622, ultritium… “

“Ultritium,” Ro repeated. “That’s an explosive.”

“And I have a good idea where it might be going,” Kira added. She gave Ro a glance, indicating both of them had a good idea where the Neo-Purists planned to strike.

With the Kobheerian freighter two hours away from the station, Verad presented a schematic of Deep Space 9 to the rest of the group. The screen on the large padd focused on the fusion reactors in the station’s central core. Sisko, the other Trill, and the Orion stood at attention as Verad began explain the plan. The Orion eyed Sisko suspiciously during the entire journey, and was continuing to do so during this briefing.

“We’re going to plant the explosives at these points,” Verad stated, indicating three red circles on the screen.

“That won’t inflict any considerable damage to the station,” Sisko replied with a hint of uneasiness in his voice. The idea of any of his former colleagues being injured or killed was certainly a disturbing idea. But he had to go along with this plan in order to make his interest in the Neo-Purists appear genuine.

Verad, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have the stomach for his sort of operation, Sisko contemplated to himself. The Klingon mercenaries by his side when he hijacked the station comprised most of the muscle. And not even being briefly joined to three different symbionts gave him the mental toughness of a terrorist leader. Sure, Verad created a virus deadly to Trill symbionts. Yet he still lacked the courage to kill other humanoids.

“If you were closer to the main reactor,” Sisko started to say.

The Orion grunted in displeasure, sensing a lack of sincerity in Sisko’s words.

“We just plan to knock out key circuits,” Verad interrupted, “in order to impede normal station operation.”

Sisko tried to stifle a sigh of relief, but the two others could hear him slowly inhale through his nose. His slow and measured inhaling did not suggest anger or disappointment, but shortness of breath, meaning he was nervous about something.

“This used to be your station after all,” Verad added with a hint of sarcasm. “Now, Lek, you and I will… “

“Pair me with the human,” the Orion insisted. “I trust someone who was once the Starfleet commander of our target.”

“You seemed unusually quick to take him into your confidence,” the second Trill added. “How do you know he is not a Starfleet spy?”

“I can’t say for sure that he isn’t, Abbit,” Verad answered. “But Benjamin has shown a willingness to help, first by impeding a Starfleet investigation.”

“Abbit, you and I will take section 23,” said Verad. “Lek, you and Benjamin will take 28. And our insider has 39. Let’s go.”
The two Trill’s headed for the cargo hold’s exit, but Lek grabbed Sisko by the arm. “At the first sign of treachery,” the burly Orion growled, “you die.”

Lek gave a conspiratorial smile while pointing a phaser pistol at Sisko’s chest, almost suggesting he would kill him either way.

“I don’t understand why you now want access to classified Special Ops technology.”

Elias Vaughn was on a comm-line with a former colleague from Starfleet Special Operations in the security office. Ro stood off to one side keeping as quiet as possible to let the middle-aged man with a shaved head on the other end think no one else was listening. Marcus Hilliard had served alongside Vaughn as a field operative. Vaughn thought Hilliard’s completely bald head was appropriate in that line of work, but in the various desk jobs Hilliard had been in since late in the Dominion War.

Vaughn was dumbfounded at both at being denied this routine request and that this usually normal Special Ops task was labeled “too big a risk.” “How?” he asked.

“If these terrorists were to realize the deception,” Hilliard said sternly, “then the whole operation will be for nothing. Or worse, if they get their hands on this technology… “

“That’s always the risk; it’s never stopped us before.”

“Sorry to have to turn down an old friend, but the answer is no.”

Hilliard quickly signed off, his image replaced by the Starfleet delta.

“He’s up to something,” Vaughn mused. “It’s not like him to be so dismissive.”

“Maybe he’s been behind that desk too long,” Ro suggested.
Vaughn grabbed a padd on the desk and entered a set of letters and numbers. “Here is the authorization code to access the industrial replicator file,” he said, handing Ro the padd.

Ro’s eyes widened in confusion to resist the urge to blurt out, “Are you kidding me?” She grabbed the padd at a loss for any other words. After looking over the contents of the padd, she asked, “Why did you even bother asking permission if you were going to go through it anyway.”

Vaughn shrugged, not exactly sure how to answer. “It seemed the polite thing to do,” he said with a grin.

Once Vaughn exited the office, Ro fell into her chair rolling her eyes. Was this how the James Kirks or, more recently the Jean-Luc Picards and the Benjamin Siskos, of Starfleet got away with insubordination? Ask for permission, but do it anyway regardless? Her insubordination got her court-martailed and imprisoned, and she would meet the same fate after the end of the Dominion War. Yet these guys got slaps on the wrist. How could I have missed that? She wondered.

Kira entered Ops from her office, just as Ezri entered through the port turbolift, Vaughn had just returned from his conference with Ro in the security office. They had between two and three hours before Verad’s group arrived to set off an explosion that would damage or even destroy the station. Since the Defiant’s return, it now served as one of the evacuation ships. The rest of the crew stayed aboard while Dax came to Ops to give a status report.

Ezri considered the irony that they were allowing a terrorist attack on the station to go forward. She knew, or rather she and Curzon knew, that Vaughn’s former specialty involved this kind of subterfuge. But what if Verad was planning to destroy the station, and was the goal of Sisko’s operation was worth sacrificing the station? She didn’t have any specifics after Sisko had gone dark. Was Kira prepared for such a possibility?

“Any other news from Captain Sisko?” Kira asked her.

No, Ezri deduced in answer to question she had asked herself. “None,” she replied in response to the captain’s query.

Looking over to the science station, Kira asked Tenmei, “What has your analysis of the ultritium beamed out of the cargo bay turned up?”

“Forensic scans indicate enough ultritium to knock out power to half the station,” Tenmei replied. “Worst case scenario, if the explosion originates in the reactor core, the whole station could explode.”

“Any luck finding out where the ultritium may have gone?” Vaughn chimed in.

“We’re still running sensor sweeps,” Tenmei answered with a frown.

“How are the transponders coming?” Kira asked Vaughn.

“Ro and Nog are working on their deployment,” said Vaughn. “They should be up and running in the next two hours. And Ro has security teams standing by in case of any new leads.”

“Good,” Kira answered with a nod. “Everyone, stay sharp. But if the worst happens, I want you all to know, it’s been an honor serving with you.”

Everyone else in Ops exchanged curious glances. As far as some of the more junior officers were concerned, this evacuation was just a drill. Only the most senior officers knew exactly what was going on.

As rest of the group dispersed, Vaughn had an additional request for his daughter. “I want you on the Defiant, too, Prynn,” he said calmly but sternly.

“I’m not leaving you behind,” Tenmei insisted.

“I don’t know how many times we’ve had this discussion. You still have a lot of good years left. I don’t want to have to make this an order.”

“You don’t have to, sir,” Prynn relented. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling at this moment. Maybe it was apathy since they were not always on the best of terms. Or maybe it was regret at having shut her father out of her life ever since the assimilation and later death of her mother. Elias had felt responsible, as those were unfortunate consequences of his own mission, but Prynn was just starting to get over the resentment. She ascended from her station and followed Ezri to the port turbolift without another word.

Using an uplink to the station’s transporter system, Verad’s group beamed into their designated areas. Sisko and Lek materialized in a dark and musty hallway. Somehow, engineers preferred parts of the station in proximity to the fusion reactors to be that way. Lek kept his weapon trained on Sisko as they walked towards a door to the fusion reactor they were targeting. “Open it,” the glowering Orion directed Sisko.

Sisko did as directed, pushing the button on the right side to open the double doors. They stepped inside just as Lek’s wrist communicator chirped. “Go ahead,” he said tapping it.

“We’re in position,” Verad replied on the other end. “What about you?”

“So we are,” said Lek. “The human hasn’t tried anything yet.”

Lek tapped his communicator to sign off, and then arched his pistol closer to Sisko’s head. “Start assembling the explosives,” he demanded, looking down at the floor at the power cells that had been transported there earlier.

Sisko set down the travel bag on his back and slowly kneeled down on the deck. He didn’t dare try anything surreptitious with a phaser pointed at him. Why he was thinking about not forcing Kasidy to raise their daughter without him now more so than when he confronted Dukat in the Fire Caves, he could not say. In both instances, a lot depended on Sisko’s actions in a very small time span. Lek then set down his travel bag and began emptying the metal rods with his free left hand.

Sisko shot quick glances at the Orion as he began placing packs of black powder into the metal rods. By itself, this powder was completely harmless. But at the right temperature, it and everything within a hundred meters of it would explode. Right now, he could see no opportunity to reveal his ace in the hole.

I finished episode 1 today. I enjoyed the plot, it was interesting and complicated enough to keep me reading and reading and reading

But sometimes I had an impression things were going too easy. Something killed an officer, so the other one put his hand recklessly and... got killed at once too. He wasn't very smart, was he?

And Nog lying straight to Ross's face? Oh my! It felt a little bit out of character. He was a Ferengi, but the Academy trained him well, and I don't think he'd do that. He'd rather writhe under Ross's gaze, trying to cover Kira's plans

But beside these little things I really liked it and I surely will read the sequel

PS. I made up the same Cardassian name as you: Corak. I've given such name to a Gul in my story

Something killed an officer, so the other one put his hand recklessly and... got killed at once too. He wasn't very smart, was he?

Click to expand...

Well, Star Trek redshirts don't always seem so smart.

And Nog lying straight to Ross's face? Oh my! It felt a little bit out of character. He was a Ferengi, but the Academy trained him well, and I don't think he'd do that. He'd rather writhe under Ross's gaze, trying to cover Kira's plans

Click to expand...

Maybe so, but it would how Nog has matured as a Starfleet officer, putting loyalty to his fellow officers ahead following regulations to tee.

But beside these little things I really liked it and I surely will read the sequel

PS. I made up the same Cardassian name as you: Corak. I've given such name to a Gul in my story

Click to expand...

Corak was originally the name of one of glinns in "Chain of Command, Parts 1 & 2" There's also a Pirak, but not the same Pirak as mentioned in canon.

Thanks for the reviews. This first story was my first foray into fan-fiction writing. The sequel will have more complex storylines and more complicated machinations

Sisko handed Lek the last of the explosives, which looked like metallic dynamite sticks. Lek placed the devices on a small ledge in the construction of the fusion reactor while continuing to train a phaser on Sisko. The Orion placed a clamp on the explosives that would heat up the ultritium.

Lek had taken his eyes off Sisko during this final task. Benjamin removed a metallic cylindrical device, from his right pocket., which flashed a small red light.

Nog’s station in Ops chirped. “Sir,” he called out to Kira. “Signal from a command transponder. Reads as Captain Sisko.”

Kira turned to look at Nog, as did Vaughn, who was manning the science station to monitor the evacuations. “Can you locate it?” Kira asked.

Sisko and Lek ran down a corridor to a safe distance from the center of the explosion. They turned a corner leaned up against a wall, closing their eyes to shield them from the explosion. When the timer had elapsed, that no such explosion happened. The two of them slowly opened their eyes, curious as why they didn’t hear an explosion.

Lek jammed his phaser pistol against Sisko’s chest. “You did this,” he growled.

“That’s not all,” Sisko replied, slugging Lek in the left jaw. He then grabbed the Orion’s phaser and kneed him in the wrist to loosen his grip. Sisko grabbed the phaser hoping that would deter Lek from making any other threatening moves. For a second that seemed the case, but then Lek whipped out a second pistol from a back holster. Before he could fire, Sisko fired his pistol, sending the Orion to the deck.

Sisko reached over to comm panel on the opposite wall. “Sisko to security,” he called. “I need teams to level thirty-four of the central core, sections twenty-eight, thirty-three, and thirty-nine. I’m headed for thirty-three.”

Verad and Abbit were just as perturbed that they heard no explosion. The two Trills slowly walked back towards the venue where the detonation should have taken place. They stepped inside the chamber housing the fusion reactor to find clumps of black gel on the walls. They both looked at each other in confusion as to what went wrong.

“Stay right there,” a voice called from behind.

Sisko was in the corridor, phaser in hand. They turned around to face their possible captor.

“I knew you were behind this,” Abbit snarled. The to Verad, “And you let it happen.”

Abbit trained his weapon on Verad. Sisko was then able to get off a shot, stunning Abbit.

“Benjamin,” said Verad with a grin. “You still saved my life. I’m flattered.”

“Don’t read too much into it,” Sisko hissed.

Two gray-haired Bajoran security officers arrived at the scene. The man on Sisko’s right grabbed Verad by the arm and escorted him down the corridor, while the other man helped up Abbit. Sisko, meanwhile, stared in disbelief, both relieved and confused at what had just transpired.

The Sword of Kahless was now en route to Bajor. In the event that Deep Space Nine was compromised, Martok’s conferences with Bajoran and Federation officials were relocated to the planet.

The chancellor sat in his chambers, sorting through padds and contemplating the irony of the situation. Deep Space Nine had been one of the most secure facilities in the sector. Now it would most likely fall to a faceless enemy. He found he could not concentrate on personnel reports and schedule council debates with these possible upcoming meetings. He was hoping to postpone them in order to address possible threats back home. He threw one padd on the desk in frustration.

The doorbell woke him out of his trance. “Enter,” he snapped.
Martok sighed, relieved to see Worf enter. “You wish to see me, Chancellor?” the ambassador deferently asked.

“Ah, yes. Worf,” Martok stuttered. “Have you been able to contact the other ambassadors?”

Worf let out a slow sigh, not sure how to deliver the bad news. “Ambassador Krim will be leaving for Earth in two days for an emergency session of the Federation Council and won’t be returning for another month. Ambassador Hawkins will not postpone these meetings either.”

“This is what I hate the most about being chancellor: dealing with this diplomatic posturing.

“Our borders are vulnerable, Worf. You and I should be addressing these external and internal threats, not dealing with menial tasks.”

“Those ‘menial tasks’ are still part of our duties to the Empire.”

That suddenly made sense to the chancellor. He was thirsting for a chance to face enemies on the battlefield. But duty had many other meanings for a politician. "Worf,” he began to say with a chuckle, “you have an interesting way of… "

Martok rose from his chair to listen for a pulsating noise in the ceiling. Worf slowly stepped over towards the sound, which was getting louder. The pulsating was then replaced by a high-pitched whine.

An explosion sent shrapnel across the room. Both Klingons were knocked unconscious. Worf had only a gash on his left cheekbone, while the body of Martok was covered in cuts and bruises.

"You might ask, should we fear joining the Dominion? And I answer you, not in the least.”

Skrain Dukat gave his inaugural address once a Jem’Hadar fleet reached Cardassia Prime, signaling the Cardassian Union’s new alliance with the Dominion. The Tal Shiar had intercepted the Union-wide transmission within a solar day of the actual address. Senator Vreenak and Commander Suran presented Dukat’s address to Proconsul Neral in the proconsul’s chamber.

“Intelligence operatives outside of Cardassian space picked up this Union-wide communiqué this morning,” Suran stated, before entering a command to pause the recording. He gave a hard look at the image of Dukat, seeing a resemblance to a Romulan Imperial Army general whose name he could not remember.

“The question now is how we respond,” Vreenak added. “In all likelihood, the Federation and the Klingon Empire will reinstate the Khitomer Accords.”

Suran immediately knew what Tirak would suggest. Use this opportunity to annex the border systems without regard how such a move would stretch military supply lines too far. Immediate direct action was rarely ever a Romulan strategy. Yet with the Dominion now ever closer to their doorstep, passive observation was not an option either.

“And those two powers will be concentrating their forces on the Dominion,” Suran offered, recalling his people’s recent history of attempting to derail alliances between the Federation and the Klingons from the Khitomer conspiracy to the last Klingon civil war.

“We have an opportunity like no other,” Vreenak continued. “War will come eventually. I’m not suggesting something as grandiose as an alliance.”

“You would suggest lending assistance,” Neral replied, “as a gesture of good will.”

Suran quietly scoffed at the very idea of any form of cooperation with the Dominion. While he was not too fond of the Federation, but was even more disdainful of the empire from the Gamma Quadrant. The Founders would likely seek retatliation against the Cardassians and the Romulans after the failed attack on the Founders’ home planet.

“Feel free to suggest it at the next Senate session,” Neral said pensively. “Dismissed.”

Suran and Vreenak headed for the entrance. After Vreenak walked out, Neral called to Suran. “Commander Suran, a moment in private.”

The commander gave a wry smile in Vreenak’s direction. He slowly turned around to face the proconsul. He seemed relieved that Neral did not completely trust Vreenak. “I have to admit,” Neral began, “I’ve had my suspicions about Vreenak.

“As I have had suspicions of his chief-of-staff,” Suran replied. “Yet I have found nothing to use against him.”

“His suggestion does have merit. As soon as war does break out, the first battle will be at Deep Space Nine. I want you to dispatch a fleet there for simple reconnaissance. We need to know the Dominion’s short term plans.”

“Understood.”

As Vreenak had expected, the Federation and the Klingon Empire did reinstate their alliance. A combined fleet of Starfleet and Klingon Defense Force vessels converged at Deep Space Nine in preparation for a Dominion attack. Dukat indicated that it would be soon when he vowed to take back the former Cardassian space station.

Any trained Starfleet officer knew Romulans had some kind of ulterior motive. But no one on Deep Space Nine knew what exactly that motive was. The impending battle would not happen for another five months. The crew was led to believe an attack was imminent at this particular time in order to cause a supernova in the Bajoran sun. The USS Defiant stopped a Changeling from carrying out that plan. Though war still remained on the horizon.

Stardate 50965

“Senators, we have a momentous opportunity before us.”
As the prospects grew stronger at the end of the Earth year 2373, the Romulan Imperial Senate continued debating the Empire’s role in a possible conflict between the Dominion and the restored Federation-Klingon alliance. Vreenak made his case for a non-aggression pact with the Dominion. Though he had plenty of dissenters in the Senate of whom he had to persuade.

Senator Irrawik was the first to speak. “Senator Vreenak,” he began, “I have reviewed your projections indicating that the Empire will be in a far better position to annex Federation and Klingon territories after an extended conflict with the Dominion. Yet we have no guarantee such a war is winnable. The Federation has taken little action while the Dominion continues to fortify its foothold in the Alpha Quadrant.”

Vreenak could immediately deduce what Irrawik was implying; that such long-term planning was only favorable if the Federation prevailed. Vreenak shot a quick glance at one of his most vocal dissenters over the last decade “You perceive a problem in the event of a Dominion victory?” he asked while looking towards Neral.

“Because we cannot guarantee that the Dominion will leave us alone if they should be victorious,” Irrawik replied.

“Yet by not becoming openly involved in a war with the Federation, we demonstrated our good intentions.”
The Senate chamber filled with raucous jeering. How could the chairman of the Intelligence Committee, of all people, make such a naïve statement? Neral pounded a stone sphere on the right arm of his throne-sized chair, quieting the crowd.

“Then why do you not endorse a full military alliance?” Cretak forcefully demanded.

“What Skrain Dukat is unable or unwilling to realize,” Vreenak humbly stated, “Is that the Founders could seek to avenge the aborted attack on their homeworld. By allowing soldiers free reign in our territory, they will be at a significant advantage should they decide to carry out the extermination of our race.”

The crowd erupted in outrage again. Through the uproar, one junior Senator’s words became distinguishable. “How do we know you are not part of such a plan?” he hissed.

Outside the Senate chamber, Tirak snuck a peek through the metal double doors. A shadow emerged over him. Tirak turned to his right to see Gelnon, the Vorta representative in the treaty negotiations. They both exchanged devious grins.

Vreenak later met with Gelnon in an alleyway after nightfall. Normally, they would meet officially during the next session of the treaty negotiations. However, Gelnon had requested an urgent meeting off-the-record. Vreenak did not know what to make of the request, so he had two of his personal guards accompany him.

“I’ll let you know if I need you,” Vreenak told the guards when he turned a corner and saw the Vorta.

“Your dissenters could cause problems,” Gelnon said plainly. “I can them eliminated if you wish.”

“It was just a suggestion,” Gelnon replied, holding in a giggle at Vreenak’s short-tempered response. “This treaty will be your crowning achievement. You cannot let a few unruly junior senators impede your road to becoming the next praetor.”

Just several meters away, one of the senator’s guards removed a holo-imager from his belt and began recording.

The comm in Ops chimed, and everyone was surprised to hear Sisko’s voice. “I need teams to level thirty-four of the central core,” his voice boomed over the speakers, “sections twenty-eight, thirty-three, and thirty-nine. I’m heading for thirty-nine.”

“Maybe so, but we have no real way of knowing without… “ The communications board chimed, catching Vaughn’s attention. “I’m picking up a general distress call from the Sword of Kahless.”

Coincidence? Kira asked herself. “On screen,” she ordered.

A garbled view of the interior of a Klingon vessel appeared with the face of Worf barely distinguishable. “This is Ambassador Worf on the IKS Sword of Kahless. An explosion has occurred in Chancellor Martok’s private chamber. I am unable to contact the bridge and the chancellor requires…“

The transmission abruptly ended, but Kira was ready to snap into action. “The Defiant is in interception range. Send them in to assist.”

“We received the distress call as well,” Ezri answered over the speakers. “We’re on it, Captain.”

Sisko entered the security office with Yndar, who was escorting Verad. Ro entered from the main cellblock after having incarcerated Lek. She instructed Yndar to lock up Verad, as well as Abbit, who was being escorted by a Bajoran female deputy. “I want them in separate cells,” Ro added, “and interrogated separately. Let them choke on who sells out whom.”

“You sold us out,” Abbit sneered at Verad, while arching his head in Sisko’s direction, “when you let him into our operation.”

Abbit lunged at Verad, but the escorting officer held him back. Once the prisoners and the deputies had left the office, Sisko looked to Ro.

“What about this ‘insider’ assigned to section thirty-three?” he inquired.

“Crewman Doran was dead when a security team got there,” Ro answered.

Dead end. Sisko’s “colleagues” were either surprised that no explosion took place or certain that Sisko had impeded their efforts. Doran could have explained what went wrong and identified the real target.” “Damn,” he mumbled.

Doctor Simon Tarses scanned Worf with a medical tricorder while applying a dermal regenerator to scars on the Klingon’s face.

Worf remembered Tarses from the Enterprise-D, especially after having judged Simon guilty of treason during an espionage investigation. Tarses’s only crime was falsifying his Starfleet application, hiding his Romulan ancestry. The un-retired admiral in charge of the investigation pushed it beyond catching a Klingon exchange officer colluding with the Romulans. Worf was pleased that Tarses had redeemed himself in the last decade, now becoming a fully licensed medical doctor.

“Good as new,” Tarses remarked.

Worf gave a slight scowl, not in the mood for the charming, but also patronizing, bedside manner of human doctors.

Julian nodded to the other doctor as he was leaving before turning to Worf. “Still as sociable as ever,” he remarked. Of course, knowing full well Worf seemed rarely in the mood for jokes, he got straight to the point. “The chancellor is in bad shape. I’m very optimistic he’ll pull through, but I’ll have to monitor him closely.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Worf replied, ascending from the reclining examination chair. “You have done your job, now I must do mine.”

Worf headed for the waiting area where he saw Sisko, Kira, and Vaughn enter from the Promenade. . He looked back at Bashir, who was headed back to the primary intensive care unit. “And I wish you the best with Lieutenant Tenmei."

Bashir had a perturbed reaction. Worf did not usually get caught up in his crewmates’ love lives. And what exactly made the ambassador think he and Prynn were dating?

“What’s the word?” Sisko inquired.

“Doctor Bashir believes the chancellor will recover,” Worf plainly stated. “Meanwhile, I will be returning to Qo’Nos to continue my investigation.”

“What do you hope to find out there?” Kira wondered.

“Martok may still have enemies at the highest levels of the Empire,” Worf explained. “I will have the Federation Embassy at my disposal to conduct an impartial investigation.

“It stands to reason someone used the Neo-Purists to cover his or her tracks,” Vaughn added.

“Yes, someone in the High Council must have tipped off the Ku-Vok-leth since only they knew Martok’s travel itinerary,” said Worf. “And someone on the Sword of Kahless allowed those explosives into Martok’s chambers. The cowards who planned this attack are just as accountable as those who carried it out, and must be brought to justice.”

“Best of luck to you then,” Kira replied.

“Thank you, Captain,” Worf answered with a nod. Then to Sisko and Vaughn, “Captain. Commander.”

After his visit to the Infirmary, Sisko stopped by the holding room adjacent to the cells where Ro was in the process of interrogating Verad. To that point, he had refused to give any names of Ku-Vok-leth operatives. “He’s not talking,” she warned Sisko.

Sisko slammed his hands down on the table and looked Verad straight in the eyes. “You’re a hunted man now, Verad,” he stated plainly. “If you tell us what you know about the Ku-Vok-leth, Starfleet may be able to cut a deal.”

“And if I don’t, you throw me back to the wolves?” Verad retorted.

Sisko stood back upright while scoffing in frustration. “You know damn well how this stuff works,” he shot back. “You give us information and the JAG office reduces your sentence.”

“Less time in a Federation rehabilitation center? Not very persuasive. And even if my cohorts want to kill me, I won’t betray the Neo-Purists and they’re cause. You know that, Benjamin. Besides, I was only paid to do this job. Their other activities are no concern of mine."

Sisko sighed, and then paced across the room to consider his next line of questioning. Ro gave a pensive squint as he walked back towards Verad. “Your group could have attacked DS9 on its own,” he continued, “a week ago, a month ago, a year ago. So why now? Doran had to have known you lacked the stomach to carry out the real plan. You were given a lucrative offer you couldn’t refuse while carrying out an attempt to assassinate Chancellor Martok.”

“This was all to get Martok,” Verad replied, still trying to avoid answering any serious questions. He disingenuously added, “I hope the attempt on his life didn’t succeed."

“The Klingon Empire is not involved in the oppression of Trill society. What would the Neo-Purists gain from assassinating the Klingon chancellor?”

Verad raised an eyebrow. That certainly got his attention. “Like I said, I don’t know any of the details. But I can tell you who sold me the station’s schematics, if I can access my personal database on Torvin Five.”

An hour later, after Ro got clearance from the police force on Torvin Five, Verad was given a padd linked into his personal database. Sisko and Ro looked over him as he sorted through sets of photographs.. “There,” he said as he set the padd down. To Ro, he added, “Someone with whom you’re familiar.”

Ro certainly did recognize a blond curly-haired Bajoran male pictured on the padd. He was Zeyner Antis, a doctor on Bashir’s staff two years earlier. He was disbarred when he was caught having poisoned a suspect involved in a terrorist plot on the station. He claimed to be an undercover intelligence operative, but Ro had a hard time believing such an operative would willingly go that far. “You’re certain?” she asked Verad.

“Positive.”

Aboard the Sword of Kahless, a Klingon officer was in communication with Kur’Tok on Nimbus Three. The officer used a communications scrambler both to prevent his transmission from being traced and to hide his face. Of course, that meant he could not see Kur’Tok on his monitor, not that he needed to since they were only communicating verbally without transmitting any computer data.

“You will have to move up your timetable, Kur’Tok,” the officer informed his contact. “The Federation ambassador is on his way back to Qo’Nos to find our informant in the High Council.”

“That could be a problem,” Kur’Tok answered. “We have not received the resonance chamber specification that will stabilize Omega. It is very delicate work.”

“Let me make myself clear. If Worf locates the mastermind behind the assassination attempt, you will most likely be implicated.

“You will find a way to expedite matters, or I will turn you in to the authorities.”

Kur’Tok started to speak, but the officer cut the transmission, replacing the distorted image on the screen with the logo of the Klingon Empire.

Worf was headed for the shuttle that would ferry him back to the Sword of Kahless when he spotted Ezri Dax having just disembarked from the Defiant. Three years ago, he would try to avoid her. The idea that she carried the memories of his late wife Jadzia was awkward to him. They had reached an understanding after a series of events that led to their capture by the Breen. Though Ezri could never completely replace Jadzia, he still cared about the choices she made, even feeling that she deserved better than Julian Bashir., who—in Worf’s own words—got excited “playing with toys.”

“Ezri,” he called out, as she was about to turn a corner. She stopped when she heard Worf’s voice.

“We have not had a chance to catch up since I have been back,” Worf continued.

Ezri felt a moment of awkwardness, knowing that Worf did not openly seek to make small talk.. Jadzia was certainly one exception, as were a number of fellow officers on the Enterprise-D. Behind his words, he was wishing to address a more serious and urgent matter. “What is this pressing matter?” she jokingly, but tensely asked.

“It is my understanding that you and Doctor Bashir are no longer together.”

“That is not my intention. You have achieved a great deal in such a short time. But do not become too focused on your Starfleet career.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Julian and I, though, we wanted different things out of each other.”

“Maybe so, but speaking from experience, I would suggest not letting opportunities for happiness slip away.”

Ezri grinned during another moment of awkward silence. The experience from which Worf was speaking was his son Alexander. He had shoved his son aside as if he was an inconvenience. From that point, the relationship between father and son remained strained, especially after Alexander was adamant that he did not want to follow the Klingon warrior tradition. In Ezri’s case, she had begun realizing her full potential, transferring from counseling to command. Her change of profession put a strain on her relationship with Julian. They eventually decided to go their separate ways, deciding that the relationship was a result of Julian’s unreciprocated attraction to Jadzia.

Ezri was not sure what else to say on the subject, and so decided to see him off at this moment. “So you’re headed back to Qo’Nos,” she said. “Safe trip and I hope you find whoever is responsible for the attempt on Martok’s life.”

“And good luck to you,” Worf replied before they headed in opposite directions.

Just as Worf’s shuttle was departing the station, a prison shuttle had arrived from Bajor transporting Zeyner Antis. Ro had made special arrangements in order to avoid drawing attention to the fact that a former officer who “resigned under mysterious circumstances” was back on board. A route from the airlock to the security office was off-limits to all but security personnel. Ro supervised the escort on the surveillance monitor to make sure the escort went smoothly.

Ro stared with contempt at the screen as her former lover was escorted in shackles. He had grown a full beard during his two years in prison, and his curly dark hair had a few noticeable gray streaks. She was lost in wondering how Antis had managed to fool her for so long, and so didn’t hear Kira enter until she set a padd on the desk.

“Federation President Zife and First Minister Asarem have signed off on a pardon,” Kira said in reference to Federation Council president and Bajor’s First Minister respectively.

Ro scoffed at the idea of setting Zeyner free after he used his position as a senior medical officer to poison a man to death. She picked up the padd on her desk, but then set it back down without reading a word. “I’ve been down this road before,” Kira remarked. “Finding out someone I cared about was a collaborator.”

“You only learned about your mother and Dukat years after her death. He was by my side in the Maquis, and I never saw it. He’s worse than a collaborator. Selling information to the highest bidder.”

“That’s why I’m having Lieutenant Escobar conduct the interrogation.”

“You can’t be serious,” Ro snapped, her jaw dropping.

“You’re too personally involved in this, Laren,” Kira shot back.

“I am chief of security, Nerys. I will be able to put my personal feelings aside.”

“Your service record suggest otherwise.”

“That is not fair,” Ro angrily insisted. She wanted to continue expressing her annoyance at hearing her service record used against her. The Bajoran Militia blocked Starfleet’s efforts to court-martial her for defecting to the Maquis. She was hired as station chief of security despite Kira’s objections. She spent two years earning back her fellow officers’ trust.

She held her tongue, instead adding, “We don’t know if that son-of-a-bitch will provide accurate information. And I’m off the investigation?”

“He’s our best lead at the moment. And no. You’re not off the investigation. You will be supervising. You know him better than most of us.”

“Great,” Ro sarcastically muttered. “I’m supposed to tell if he’s lying, which I couldn’t do for six years.”

“Do what you can,” Kira offered, though realizing Ro still felt that her assignment may as well have relegation to the sidelines.

Dax noticed Benjamin Sisko sitting at a table at the Replimat. When she removed her meal tray from the replicator. She was not sure whether to sit across from him or go somewhere else as if she hadn’t seen him. During the trip to Torman Five, she sensed Benjamin wanted to get his mission over with and exchange as little pleasantries as possible with his old friends.

Ezri quietly passed him as he took a sip of his coffee. Ben set the mug down on the table and gently nudged it away saying, “I don’t know if I can get used to replicated raktajino again.”

“So what’s next for you?” Ezri curiously inquired, setting down her tray. She sat down grinning wondering if more awkward silences would accompany Sisko’s answer to her query.

“Heading back home to the wife and kids,” Benjamin retorted. “My transport leaves in the morning.”

“Sounds awfully mundane.”

“I can live with mundane. After I had to make so many hared choices during the war., laying low seems better for me right now.”

Sensing more awkward silences, Dax decided to get to the heart of the matter of what was on her mind about Benjamin. After the death of his first wife at Wolf 359, he spent two and a half years toiling away at the Utopia Planitia shipyards. Of course, the Dominion War incurred far more loss of life, and Sisko had the difficult decision sending husbands and wives out into battle, and to their deaths. “The counselor in me would say you were running from something,“ Ezri remarked. “You were in the same rut after Wolf 359.”

“You were a good counselor. Why did you give that up?”

Ezri chuckled. Ben’s remark was often a therapy patient’s avoidance of an important subject. But this was not a therapy session. “It might have been when I led the mission to save Ghemor from assassination,” Ezri recalled of a mission when renegade Cardassians tried to assassinate the Castellan of the Cardassian Union. “I had to draw on Curzon’s and Jadzia’s knowledge of Klingon martial arts. I started to realize I could be so much more.”

“But you still are psychoanalyzing me.”

“We can’t always hide from the people we are. Sooner or later, you’ll end up back in the game.”

Maybe Sisko’s baseball metaphors were rubbing off on others. He sighed while considering what Ezri had just said. “This feels different thought,” he said, “like that part of my life is over.”

“Whatever you decide, I’m sure it will be for the best.”

Sisko’s face was on a monitor screen at the official police headquarters of Torman Five. Or rather, it was a computer-generated image of a face resembling Sisko’s. A program made minor alterations to the facial features so that they matched the description of the man who assaulted Runold. Verad and the rest of his team did not return twenty-four hours after their departure, so Runold suspected something had gone awry. Perhaps this Russell guy was responsible.
Once the alterations were completed, Runold instantly recognized the person who had dislocated his shoulder. “Yeah, that’s him,” he confidently stated.

The head of planetary security was a native of Torman who had tan-skinned faces resembling those most Earth fish with a ridge that extended from the forehead to the chin. He had been altering the image on the screen according to Runold’s description. “I’m cross checking this with our police records and Starfleet Security files.”

Almost instantaneously, the name Benjamin Sisko appeared in red letters on the screen. “Sisko,” Runold muttered. He recalled hearing of Verad’s previous face-to-face encounter with the commander of Deep Space Nine nearly eight years ago. And Verad was actually going along with the masquerade.

Kur’Tok took a sip of Klingon bloodwine, grimaced, and spat it onto the floor. It had not sufficiently aged for his tastes. Well-aged bloodwine, however, was hard to come by on Nimbus Three. Kur’Tok still was willing to take any kind of bloodwine, even if this particular vintage was not to his liking.

A chime on his desk monitor diverted his attention. He slammed his mug on the table, which sent some liquid spiraling in the air. He entered the requested authorization code to decrypt the data file being transmitted. After he downloaded the file to a padd, he headed for the cargo deck.

Several other Klingons stood at computer consoles throughout the heavily spacious room running tests on the boronite shipped to them three days earlier. The Klingon closest to the door looked up from his console upon Kur’Tok’s arrival.

“Is that the additional data?” Mirok inquired.

Kur’Tok handed the padd off his subordinate. “We can now synthesize a stable omega molecule.”

Commander Donatra stared at the shipboard status reports on the monitor in her private chamber off the bridge. It was all she could do to pass the time while waiting on Suran’s next move.

The Valdore had tracked the Tiralihaan to the Baber Nebula. Perhaps he was meeting with one of his contacts in a Tal Shiar operation. Donatra had known of Suran’s affiliation with the Tal Shiar since her first training days at the Imperial War College. Because she had never been recruited into the intelligence agency, she kept this knowledge quiet and accepted that any actions Suran had taken as member of the Tal Shiar were taken in the best interests of the Star Empire. That was until after the Dominion War and the suspicious death of Praetor Neral when Suran started rumors that the Federation manufactured evidence of a planned Dominion attack on Romulus and arranged the late Senator Vreenak’s death to prevent him from revealing that the evidence was fraudulent. More often than not, such stories were just propaganda to spur the military. Furthermore, Donatra was among the first to learn that Vreenak’s shuttle was destroyed during its return trip from the Dominion outpost on Soukara.

Donatra saw in the Romulan people a race that had lost its way. Ambition was a trait encouraged in all Romulan citizens, but that soon came to mean assassinating ones way up the political and military hierarchies. Assassination was an accepted last resort when a leader was deemed ineffective. Such a tactic had been overused in the last three centuries by soldiers and politicians putting their own ambitions ahead the honor of the people. The current praetor Hiren might have achieved his position this way given that the sitting praetor wouldn’t just be pecked to death by poisonous birds. Donatra could not prove that Hiren was responsible, so she had hoped to undermine him by digging up dirt on Suran.

The comm chimed catching Donatra by surprise. The usually mundane reports had nearly lulled her to sleep. She gazed eagerly at the message from Murot aboard the Tiralihaan. The printout message indicated that Suran transmitted specifications for a harmonic resonance chamber to Nimbus Three. Such a device was often used to stabilize a volatile substance such as trilithium or the Omega molecule. Whatever Suran was up to would be a recipe for danger, especially on a planet that was a hotbed for terrorists and smugglers.

“Bridge,” she said, tapping the comm-panel. “Set a course for Nimbus Three.”

Kira entered the cellblock behind the security office just as Zeyner was escorted into a cell. Escobar accompanied her, holding a padd containing the official profile on the latest prisoner. Once the security deputies activated the forcefield, Kira nodded to them and to Escobar to step outside for a few minutes to have a word in private with Zeyner.

“Like the new uniform,” he remarked, “though I could never get used to the comm-badge on the wrong side. Seems like a demotion though.”

Kira smirked, trying not to get swept up in Zeyner’s usual charming manner that Ro fooled for years. He was right, though, that as both a major and a colonel in the Bajoran Militia, Kira did outrank captains in that same military organization. But because Starfleet used traditional naval ranks, Starfleet captains did still outrank her. “Tell me,” she plainly began, “does the name Turan Getz ring a bell?”

His eyes widened at the mention of a name he had not heard in nearly a decade. He paused for a moment to consider his answer. His hesitation was enough indication to Kira that any answer he did give would be a lie. “Of course not,” he attempted.

“You don’t remember the name of the leader of your resistance cell,” Kira retorted. “Even though he was a fellow collaborator?”

“I didn’t start sleeping with him after the Occupation ended.”
Kira rolled her eyes but chose dignify that jab at her brief romance with former First Minister and former Resistance leader Shakaar Edon with any verbal response.

“So were all the former members of that resistance group collaborators?” he continued. “Guilty by association is hardly sufficient proof.”

“After you were caught trying to impede our investigation two years ago,” Kira blithely replied, “I checked with the Intelligence Ministry. They had no record of a Zeyner Antis or anyone remotely fitting your description.”

“The names of agents are not available to just anyone. You know that, Nerys.”

“No, but the names of Dukat’s network of Bajoran sympathizers became available after a list of eight names was confiscated from the Vaatrik widow, including Turan Getz.”

Zeyner gave a wry grin when he heard the name Vaatrik. Realizing he was letting his guard down, he turned away from Kira’s gaze. “There’s another name I haven’t heard in ten years,” he quipped, referring to the man who served as intermediary between Dukat and his spies within the Bajoran Resistance. Zeyner did not want Kira to see his expression of pride that no Bajoran during the Occupation suspected him of selling attack plans to various Cardassian military units and that his former leader was courageously willing to give himself up if any other cell suspected a member of the Turan Resistance of selling them out to their Cardassian oppressors. “I understand not even Odo was able to prove that you killed him.”

“He was on the side of justice,” Kira replied fondly of the station’s former chief of security, whose first assignment as constable under the Cardassian regime was to investigate the murder of Vaatrik. In fact, Odo never identified the killer until nearly a year after the Occupation ended. “He knew how harsh the Cardassian system of justice was, and he didn’t want implicate anyone without solid proof.”

“Or it was love at first sight,” Zeyner taunted, recalling Kira’s relationship with Odo prior to his departure to rejoin the Founders of the Dominion in the Gamma Quadrant. “Dukat might have suspected Kira Meru’s daughter the second you entered the picture. Or was her name by that time Tora Naprem?”

Nerys’s blood boiled the instant she heard the name of the now deceased Tora Ziyal’s mother. Ziyal was the illegitimate daughter of Dukat with another Bajoran mistress, born the same year that Meru died. Nerys wanted to go in the cell and deck Zeyner for suggesting that one of Dukat’s half-Bajoran children was her half-sister. Not that she ever held Ziyal’s paternity against her, but the thought just planted in her mind was utterly disturbing. Such an act, however, would not appropriate for the station CO, especially after not wanting to take a chance that Ro would lose her temper. She took a deep breath and stormed out of the room.

Escobar was waiting in the office with Ro when Kira entered. She told Jonas and the two Bajoran guards they could go back in and proceed with the interrogation, doing her best to keep her own emotions in check. “He’s a practiced liar, so no type of autonomic response analysis would be that accurate,” she said to Ro. “I thought I’d get under his skin to get a baseline comparison.”

“Sounds like he got under your skin more than you got under his,” Laren replied with a hint of sympathy.

Back in the cellblock, Escobar took sat down at the center table and opened a file on the padd. Zeyner stared in his direction trying to remember if he had seen him before, perhaps when he was in the Maquis. But it was a very long time ago, and his colleague in the Maquis were just people he spied on. The cause rarely mattered. “Weren’t you once in the Maquis?” he asked feigning interest in his interrogator.

“I’m going to be asking the questions around here,” Escobar answered plainly, without even glancing at the prisoner.
“Who is your primary contact in the Ku-Vok-leth?”

“Why isn’t Laren conducting the interrogation? I know she’s still the station’s head of security.”

“Your contact?” Escobar persisted, trying not to show annoyance.

“She’s probably watching on the surveillance monitors,” Zeyner continued, looking up at the ceiling where a camera might be. “You like having that kind of power, don’t you?”

Ro viewed the interrogation on a monitor in the office, letting out a disgusted scoff. He continued to taunt her, questioning whether she was fit to be a security officer when he had pulled the wool over her eyes for so long. Trying to contain all of her cumulative anger at Zeyner, Ro got up and stormed into the cellblock.

Escobar barely had any time to react to seeing his superior make a beeline towards Zeyner’s cell. Kira was close behind, but not making much of an effort to coax Ro back into the office. Ro quickly lowered the forcefield and grabbed her ex-lover by the collar to force him upright. She then tugged his hair and slammed his head against the cell’s bench. “We’re not fooling around,” she snarled. “Give us a name.”

Ro flung him on the deck and pulled her phaser. She slowly raised the setting to maximum stun, so that he could see that, even on stun, a point-blank shot to the chest could still kill him. “It’s a big planet last I checked,” she retorted. “We need a name.”

“Holster your weapon, Lieutenant,” Kira called out, grabbing the handle of her own phaser. “That’s an order.”

“That’s the Ro Laren I remember,” said Zeyner, barely containing a giggle. “He’ll kill himself before giving himself up to Starfleet. He believes in his cause that much. You want any information out of him, you’ll have to let to speak with him.”

“No way in hell that’s happening. How do we know you won’t use this opportunity to escape?”

“The pardon is only valid if I provide accurate information.”
“He’s got us there,” Kira offered.

After a momentary stare-down between Ro and Zeyner, Ro holstered her weapon, then stepped out of the cell and reactivated the forcefield. Kira shot Ro a slack-jawed glare as they both slowly stepped out of the cellblock. Escobar gave shocked stares at everyone else in the room as he whisked his padd off the table.

Elias Vaughn entered the Infirmary to see Doctor Bashir in the middle of a conversation with Prynn. He stopped in his tracks and slowly backed up towards the door to avoid the appearance of a parent too involved in his adult child’s personal life. He had seen his daughter spending a lot of time with Julian during off-hours whether it was playing darts at Quark’s or sharing drinks in the Replimat. Neither Julian nor Prynn said definitively. All Elias really had to go on was Worf’s suggestion that they were dating. And Worf was never the type to gossip or listen to gossip. On the other hand, his daughter did not strike him as a “one of the guys”-type girl. And Julian’s wide array of historical holosuite reenactments was something the good doctor shared with male colleagues.

“I would strongly advise that you adhere to this stretching routine,” Bashir was saying to Tenmei while handing her a padd.

“No problem, Doctor,” Prynn replied, making a point to address him by his title when she saw her father from one corner of her eye.

“And,” Julian continued as they both sauntered towards the exit out onto the Promenade, “if you’re still sore in the morning, stop by before you go on duty.”

Prynn simply returned Julian’s wide smile with a quick nod. She gave Elias an embarrassed glance as if he had caught them behaving inappropriately. Vaughn knew that Bashir was friendly with all his patients, but even more so towards his female patients. His biggest failing was probably failing was that he probably got too emotionally involved with women who had unique medical needs, be it Melora Pazlar, a native of a low-gravity planet or Sarina Douglas, who, until three years ago, had severe deficiencies interacting with the world around her as a side effect of her genetic modifications.

“Commander,” Julian gasped, sounding equally embarrassed. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ll be chaperoning Lieutenant Ro and Zeyner on their trip to Nimbus Three,” Vaughn plainly responded. “That planet’s not up to specs health-wise….”

“And you want to be properly vaccinated,” Bashir finished, cringing at the mention of one of his former staff. Though his genetic enhancements gave him the ability to read body language and facial cues in ways other humans could not, he never for one second suspected Zeyner Antis was involved in less than reputable activities. “I can take care of that. But I should warn you the vaccine for Rigalian mud fleas can have really difficult side effects.”

As Julian headed for the computer terminal in the main entryway, he noticed Elias had not budged. “Something else, sir?” he asked nervously.

“It’s just that I overheard Ambassador Worf suggest it the other day,” Vaughn innocently explained.

“Worf,” Julian repeated, recalling that particular awkward encounter with the ambassador prior to his departure from the station. “When Ezri and I were together, Worf sort of took on the role of a disapproving older brother. While he was more than happy to step aside, he still felt we were not right for each other.”

Elias momentarily looked away to hide his embarrassment over this latest error in judgment. “But there’s nothing between you and Prynn?”

“Of course not.”

“I only ask because when parent and child serve together, the parent can’t help but be curious about these things.”

“I understand. You should be commended for trying to make up for lost time with your daughter.” Bashir then gave Vaughn a friendly pat on the shoulder as he continued towards the computer terminal. “I’ll get to work on the vaccines.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Vaughn answered, heading for the exit.

Once the doors had opened, then closed again, Julian rolled his eyes wishing he had the last couple minutes of his life back.

Benjamin Sisko was ready to return to his family life on Bajor. The trip from Deep Space Nine was uneventful, as was the trip from the spaceport back to his house in Rekantha Province. Of course, what was morning and early afternoon on the station’s clock was evening at his residence on Bajor. He was expecting Kasidy to be putting little Rebecca to bed and Jake to be getting stuck on his latest manuscript. That’s why he was surprised to see the whole house was dark. “Hello,” he called out.

Sisko quickly surveyed the living room, the study, and the kitchen. No one. He slowly trudged up the stairs. He was beginning to worry because he couldn’t even hear his daughter fussing. Maybe she had already fallen, and so had Kasidy even if it wasn’t that late at night. Ben slowly tiptoed towards Rebecca’s bedroom when he heard Rebecca cry out in his and Kasidy’s room. He quickly sauntered over the room. As he opened the door, he quickly felt the tip of a phaser pistol on his chest. “Hello, Mister Russell,” a familiar voice said. “Or should I call you Captain Benjamin Sisko?”

Runold, the pudgy Trill who doubted Sisko during his undercover mission, was holding the weapon. From the bump on his dark gray jumpsuit, Runold wore a brace on the shoulder Sisko dislocated. Three Nausicaans were also present pointing phaser rifles at the rest of the Sisko family, one of whom walked over to Ben and patted him down, possibly to make sure he had no listening devices on him.

Kasidy held Rebecca tightly trying to protect her daughter from the intimidating alien thugs. “Ben,” she gasped. “Who are these people? What’s going on?”

“And you kept picking fights with me,” Runold added, “so you could have a more active role in screwing us over.”

“Let them go,” Benjamin implored. “You’re quarrel is with me not with them.”

“Ben, what are you doing?” Kasidy asked. She was beginning to regret having persuaded her husband to go on this one-time mission. If she had known someone would show up to take her, her daughter and stepson hostage, she probably would have kept quiet. Not even the Prophets, who were not limited by linear time, could help them out of this predicament.

“I’m not after you,” Runold sneered, still angry with himself for letting himself be fooled by the famous Benjamin Sisko. “I want Verad. He went along with your little masquerade. And by doing that, he may have destroyed the Neo-Purists and its cause he claimed to believe in so strongly.”

“I can take you to Verad,” Sisko calmly replied. “Just let them go.”

“And lose my guarantee that I don’t fall into another one of your cleverly laid traps?” Runold retorted.

“Let these two go,” Jake suggested, referring to Kasidy and Rebecca. “I’ll be your hostage.”

“No, Jake,” Kasidy implored.

“Absolutely not,” Benjamin added.

“I’m not going to let these thugs,” Jake began as the Nausicaan who was guarding him pointed his rifle at Jake’s head, “harm a defenseless two-year old. Let Kasidy and Rebecca go, and I’ll stay with them.”

“You don’t have to do this, Jake,” Benjamin implored.

“Oh, really?” Runold asked. “You do what I ask and maybe I will harm a defenseless two-year old.” The Trill slowly pulled his phaser away from Benjamin and pointed it at Rebecca.

“All right,” Benjamin said firmly. His son had been in similar danger over the years from the massacre on Ajilon Prime to the Dominion’s occupation of Deep Space Nine during the first four months of the Dominion War when Jake foolishly decided to stay behind to report on the war. And had Quark and Ziyal not broken him out of the station’s holding cells, Jake would have faced execution for his involvement in trying to derail the enemy’s efforts to bring in reinforcements from the Gamma Quadrant. After Starfleet regained control of the station, Ben had hoped Jake would never again put himself in that kind of danger again. Now Jake was willing put himself in that kind of danger in order to protect his stepmother and half-sister.

Runold pointed his phaser back at Benjamin while also nodding at the Nausicaans to lower their weapons and leave the room. He knew how most of these hostage negotiations worked and Benjamin would not cooperate until he knew his wife and daughter were safe. One of the Nausicaans stayed behind to escort Jake out of the room.

“Let’s go,” Runold commanded of the men.

“Ben,” Kasidy said, her eyes brimming with tears fearing for her husband when he left to confront Dukat in the Fire Caves, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

[LEFT][LEFT]Office of the Federation Council President; Paris, France; Earth[/LEFT]
[/LEFT]

Federation President Min Zife was on comm with an intelligence liaison from his office in the Palais de la Concorde. Darkness ascended over the city, but Zife kept the lights dim to avoid attracting the attention of people working late shifts at the Palais. After all, he was conducting top-secret business with a high-ranking operative of Starfleet Intelligence. More to the point, this was an off-the-record operation specifically ordered by the President.

Commander Kenyon Dietz had been assigned to the non-aligned world of Tezwa along the border between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. The dark-skinned human male had contacted Zife just after midnight, Paris local time, to update him on his mission. Over the last month, Dietz was investigating rumors of increased military activity on Tezwa. The Tezwan people had never posed much of a threat to either the Federation or the Empire in the last century. Dietz’s mission was to gage whether Tezwa was in any position to wage war with the two major powers in the region.

“I can confirm now,” Dietz said in concluding his report, “that the weapons are being added to the planetary defense system’s current arsenal. Your worst fears may be coming true.”

“Thank you for the information, Agent Dietz,” Zife replied stoically. “Contact me again in twenty-four hours when you can receive further instructions.”

Zife immediately cut the transmission, replacing the image of Dietz on the monitor with the UFP seal. The Bolian tilted his head downward as he massaged his temples. He was lost in his thoughts when his intercom chimed. “I thought I ordered no interruptions,” he groaned.

“You wished to be notified when Mister Azernal arrived,” a feminine voice replied.

“Send him in then,” Zife said, arching his fully bald head backwards against the top his leather upholstered chair.

A tall, skinny Zakdorn male slowly paced into the office checking the wall-mounted monitor to make sure the President was not on comm with anyone. The chief of staff then walked over to the desk to face Zife.

Zife clasped both his hands together on the desk and shot Koll Azernal a cold stare. “I’ll come right to the point, Koll,” he somberly stated. “The weapons placed on Tezwa are in the process of being implemented into their planetary defense system.”

“It was a risky move five years ago,” Azernal recalled. “I knew then that Prime Minster Kinchawn was a loose cannon.”

“It was a calculated risk,” Zife replied. “Now we have to do damage control before all hell breaks loose.”

Azernal later stepped into his own office. As he fidgeted with a desk lamp in the darkened room, a humanoid figure sidled up to him. The other person pushed a button to close the door. Azernal successfully activated the lighting device, and then turned around startled to see a familiar Vulcan woman in a black leather jumpsuit.

“A most illogical statement,” L’Haan retorted, “considering the delicate nature of this operation. What do you have to report?”

“The President has confirmed that the situation on Tezwa is worse than Section 31 initially believed.”

If Koll did not know any better, he’d have thought L’Haan was smirking when the right edge of her lips twitched. No Vulcan would ever admit to even minor displays of emotion. But then most Vulcan women did not wear their hair in a short coiffure as L’Haan did.

“You’ll be pleased to know the operation on Nimbus Three is underway,” she said with an eerie coldness.

Azernal rolled his eyes as he circled around the desk and sat down. Doing damage control on Tezwa would be difficult enough. Now Section 31 was carrying out a mission more risky than illegally supplying classified technology to a minor power five years earlier.

IKS Sword of Kahless

Whether the Legend of Klag was true or not, Worf still considered Klag, son of M’Raq, one of the Empire’s greatest heroes during the Dominion War. After IKS Pagh crash-landed on Marcan, Klag was the only survivor. Klag reportedly defeated a garrison of seven Jem’Hadar despite having lost an arm and suffering severe blood lost. How he pulled it off was of no great importance since he clearly survived that ordeal.

Of course, Worf had known of Klag and the Pagh well before that legendary confrontation when the Enterprise-D’s first officer served aboard the Klingon Bird-of-Prey as part of the officer exchange program. During that assignment, he Pagh’s Captain Kargan believed the Enterprise was responsible for a metallic parasite growing on the hull of his ship and was determined to retaliate. When Kargan was about to order the attack, Will Riker, courtesy of a command transponder Worf had given him, had Kargan beamed off the bridge. Klag, then second officer of the Pagh, stood by Riker’s order to stand down. Riker had earned the respect of his crew and his captain, although Kargan was also offended that Riker did not assassinate him per the long-standing Klingon naval tradition.

Worf had learned after Riker’s return to the Enterprise, that Kargan had a distinguished reputation for recklessness, often looking for any excuse for a fight without fully considering whether or not the cause was a worthy one. That recklessness might have led to Kargan’s ultimate demise at Marcan Five. The ambassador had informed the now-Captain Klag of the attempt on Martok’s life and gave his assurances that their chancellor was in good hands back on Deep Space Nine. Worf was now pressing Klag for specifics regarding the captain’s current mission.

“It is a dark time for the Empire,” Klag said, while in communication with Worf. “I regret that I cannot share all the details of my mission with a Federation diplomat. But I have great for you as a fellow warrior of the Empire, Ambassador Worf.”

“And I, you, Captain Klag,” Worf replied as he stood in front of a wall mounted communications monitor in the VIP suite. “What information can you share with me?”

“For the last six months,” Klag grimly stated, “I have been tracking the movements of warriors who continue to follow the old ways. I am certain you have familiar with the Ku-Vok-leth, my friend. They call themselves the Honor Brigade, but they have not always fought with honor ever the since the Federation first became our ally.”

“Yes. All too well,” Worf replied, recalling the Klingon warriors who were guests 1701-D during his first year of service there. Korris and Konmel had reminded him that he could not ignore his Klingon roots even having lived among humans most of his life. But amid Korris’s insatiable appetite for battle, he lacked a sense of duty, honor, and loyalty, qualities without which, Worf had said then, a warrior was nothing.

“But this assassination attempt,” Worf continued, “could only have been carried out this easily if they had informants in the High Council and on this ship.”

“Then I hope you are on a secure channel. Otherwise you are taking a big risk contacting me.”

“Anyone hoping to eavesdrop would have to get through five layers of encryptions.”

Or so Worf thought as an officer aboard the Sword of Kahless was already listening in on the communiqué with Klag. The officer sat at desk observing the transmission a monitor. He began entering commands on the computer terminal to begin recording and transmission of the communiqué.

A profile capsule appeared on Worf’s screen containing information on a person of interest Klag had just transmitted. Pictured in the capsule was a Klingon with a cold stare in his eyes. His frizzy dark had streaks of gray hair down both sides. “This is Kur’Tok,” Klag explained. “He is a civilian engineer on Nimbus Three, the senior engineer of a pergium mine. In the last month, he has received bi-weekly shipments from Romulan military shuttles.”

Worf gave a skeptical wince as he continued to read Kur’Tok’s profile. This engineer’s dealings with Romulans were suspicious enough since the Star Empire had a wealth of pergium deposits within its own territory. So if these Romulans were military officers traveling to the hind end of the Beta Quadrant to meet with the senior engineer of a pergium mine, then that would confirm speculation the Romulan Empire was supporting the Ku-Vok-leth. “Then I will meet with you at Nimbus Three,” Worf said. “Qa’Pla, Captain Klag.”

“Qa’Pla, Ambassador Worf.”

The eavesdropping officer turned off the monitor to Worf’s quarters disengaging the recording. He then entered commands on the terminal to send a discreet transmission to a member of the High Council.

An elderly Klingon with thinning white hair appeared on the monitor screen. The image of Councilor Ru’qel was barely visible because the officer was using various communications scramblers, including green numeral thirty-ones streaking across the top and bottom of the screen. Martok had suspected Ru’qel of trying to usurp his position and every chancellor before for as long he served in the Council. Though already next in line for the chancellor-ship, Ru’qel was the last person to start an insurrection because he was fading of old age and he had no male heirs.

“Why are you contacting me on this frequency?” Ru’qel demanded, baffled that a fellow Klingon was associated with a Federation black ops organization. True the continued alliance between the Federation and the Empire was in both their best interests even if that meant keeping certain secrets hidden. If war did break out over those secrets, then both sides would be even more at the mercy of nearby enemies such as Romulans or the Tholians. Still, a Klingon Defense Force officer’s involvement with Section 31 could get him hanged for treason if such an association was public knowledge.

“Worf is on to us,” the officer plainly replied. “As is Klag. It is their hope to apprehend and detain Kur’Tok.”

Ru’qel chortled until the muscles in his throat strained. He started wheezing to the point where the younger Klingon officer thought he would cough out his internal organs. The elderly politician downed a shot of liquor to calm the coughing and took a few slow breaths. “He must be even more desperate than I suspected,” he mused, “if he’s sending Klag on these missions instead of someone in Imperial Intelligence. No matter. I will send a garrison to Nimbus Three. The traitorous son of Mogh will be in for a big surprise.”

IRW Tiralihaan
The Tiralihaan slowly exited the Baber Nebula, and then streaked into warp once the ship was clear of the nebular gases. Unbeknownst to the crew, Donatra and the Valdore were one step ahead of them.

Commander Inneraat Suran stared out the viewport of his private chamber, taking in one last look at the mosaic of colors across the spectrum that composed the Baber Nebula. Despite the many Spartan aspects of Romulan culture, Suran had a strong sense of aesthetics. Yet he was among those who would perpetuate the myth that the Romulan heart itself was gray. The relative lack of artistic creativity was perhaps derived from their Vulcan cousins; even though Suran and many other Romulans would be loathe to admit that to off-worlders just as no Vlulcan would admit to an alien that his or her actions were motivated by emotion.

As the nebula became smaller in size from his vantage point, Suran turned around at the same time the door chimed. “Enter,” he called.

Centurion Bralek entered carrying a padd containing the daily personnel report. “The personnel review,” he said holding up the padd.

“There’s also a more pressing matter, sir,” Bralek continued setting the padd down the desk. “Our sensor readings indicate intermittent tachyon spikes along our course from ch’Rihan to the Nebula. They are highly concentrated suggesting a cloaked vessel on a course parallel to our own.”

Suran removed a glass of Romulan ale from the replicator tray and took a small sip as he walked back to his desk. “Are they shadowing us now?” he asked, starting to wonder who besides his crew and his superiors in the Tal Shiar knew about his secret trip to the Baber Nebula.

“No, sir. But the sensor logs from our passive scans indicate a warbird did uncloak at the nebula’s perimeter.”

Bralek entered a command on the padd and pointed to a set of numbers that appeared on the screen. “The warp signature registers as the Valdore,” the centurion continued.
Suran’s eyes widened, indicating to Bralek that the commander agreed with his conclusion.

“Donatra,” Suran muttered. But of all his former protégés, Donatra was last person he would expect to be that sloppy. I taught you better than that, Miette, he silently mused. Unless she wants me to know that’s her following me.

“Sir,” said Bralek, leaning downward until his eyes met Suran’s. “She could be headed for Nimbus Three. If that’s the case, she could undermine our whole operation. We should report this to your superiors.”

“Not yet. I want to wait and see what she does when she gets to Nimbus. That means it’s time for us to shadow her.”

“Yes, sir,” Bralek skeptically replied. He knew Donatra was often too intelligent and ambitious for her own good. Bralek knew to never question Donatra’s patriotism. On the other hand, of all his understudies, Donatra was one whom Suran was most fond of. Bralek feared that Suran wou.ld not be willing to make the hard choice if Donatra was, in fact, trying to undermine their whole operation.

Suran gave a suspicious stare at Bralek as the centurion paced out of the office. Something about Bralek seemed suspicious. He had been a loyal soldier of the empire for almost six decades. A man of early middle age as indicated by a few streaks of gray in his hair, Bralek had certainly earned his way up the ranks without any special treatment. But his slightly slanted lips accompanied by a semi-involuntary twitch on the right edge seemed eerily familiar. The human operative he had met on Romulus a few days earlier, as did Senator Vreenak’s chief-of-staff. Maybe that was just a coincidence.

Commander Suran caught up to Senator Vreenak in the landing bay of the senator’s personal shuttle. Vreenak was traveling to the Dominion outpost on Soukara for a diplomatic meeting. Suran’s biggest concern was that Vreenak planned on taking just the shuttle with no military escort. Suran had known from experience how stubborn Vreenak was. Despite the non-aggression pact, Suran did not trust the Dominion no matter how much it honored the agreement.

“I have made up my mind, Commander,” Vreenak calmly answered. “This meeting is to discuss the possibility of an alliance after the war. We have to show our good faith.”
“Not even a squadron of cloaked warbirds outside the system?” Suran insisted.

“No. The asteroid belt has a web of tachyon scanners and gravitic sensor nets. They suspect anything…”

Suran raised a hand to concede the senator’s argument. “Fine,” he said with a sigh. “May you have a safe trip. Jolan tru, Senator.”

“Jolan tru, Commander.”

The senator and the commander shook hands. Vreenak then made a quick jaunt over to the main entrance of the shuttle. Once Vreenak was inside, Suran motioned a fellow commander towards him with his right forefinger. “I want you to tail his shuttle,” he whispered. “Tune your cloak to this frequency. I have a feeling this will end badly.”

Suran handed a data padd over to the subordinate commander. The younger officer accepted the padd, placing it in his right equipment holster. “Yes, sir,” he said, placing his right fist on his left shoulder in the traditional Romulan military salute.

From the edge of his peripheral vision, Suran could see Tirak saunter towards the shuttle. He got a better look at Vreenak’s chief-of-staff once the junior commander walked away. The presence of Tirak confirmed Suran’s hunch that Vreenak’s mission would have a disastrous outcome.

Senator Vreenak had made an off-the-record detour to Deep Space Nine during his return trip from Soukara. The meetings with Weyoun had gone well, although he found the Vorta’s disingenuous charm rather annoying. The groundwork had been laid for a possible post-war alliance. The initial treaty was just a compromise with the rest of the Senate. Vreenak was still hoping for much more.

Whether such an alliance would become a reality depended greatly on the veracity of Starfleet Captain Benjamin Sisko’s claims. Vreenak never trusted the Federation, but this “incriminating intelligence” was too important to ignore. To preface his presentation of evidence that the Dominion was planning an attack on the Romulan Empire, Sisko invited Vreenak to the wardroom to discuss the state of the war. While he was comparing replicated kali-fal to the real thing, the senator gave his perspective on the harsh realities of a war he felt the Federation would eventually lose.

“Dogged determination isn't enough to change the reality of your situation,” Vreenak tersely stated. “Time is definitely not on your side. The Dominion shipyards are working at one hundred percent capacity. Yours are still being rebuilt. The Dominion is breeding legions of Jem'Hadar soldiers every day. You're experiencing a manpower shortage. But most important, the Dominion is resolved to win the war at any cost. You and I both know the Federation has already put out peace feelers. Now, in all candor, if you were in my position, which side would you choose?”

“I'd pick the side most likely to leave us in peace when the dust settles,” Sisko grimly replied. “Maybe you're right. Maybe the Dominion will win in the end. Then the Founders will control what we now call Cardassia, the Klingon Empire and the Federation. So, instead of facing three separate opponents with three separate agendas, you'll find yourselves facing the same opponent on every side. There's a word for that. Surrounded.”

Vreenak inhaled the scent his alcoholic beverage gave off. It really is a good replica,” he remarked. “The aroma's starting to grow on me. For a moment there I almost forgot that it wasn't the real thing, but only for a moment. You make some very good points, Captain, but it's still all speculation and theory. Nothing that would warrant abrogating our treaty and plunging the Empire into war.”

"What if I told you that the Dominion is planning a sneak attack on the Romulan Empire at this very moment?"

“I’d want proof”

Elim Garak had been assisting Sisko in this effort to persuade the Romulan Star Empire to join the Federation Alliance in the war effort. The lone Cardassian residing on the station had procured a genuine Cardassian data rod and an individual who could create fraudulent holographic recording of a planned Dominion attack on Romulus. Sisko would present the “evidence” to Vreenak, while Garak snuck aboard the shuttle to learn any secrets about the Dominion Vreenak had picked up at Soukara. Or so that was what Sisko had believed.

Garak materialized in the cockpit of Vreenak’s shuttle. It was a fairly standard layout—two forward piloting consoles, one center seat, and a number of secondary stations. Two of the guards were in the landing bay while the other two stood watch outside the wardroom. Garak slipped in unnoticed, and sat down at the port pilot station to access ship’s database. He used that innocuous computer entry to sneak in a decryption of the propulsion systems.

Garak entered a command to gradually increase the gravitational output of the warp drive’s artificial quantum singularity in small increments. Eventually, this programmed malfunction would cause the shuttle to collapse in on itself. This is too easy, Garak was beginning to think.

Upon ascending from the pilot chair, Garak came face-to-face with a Romulan civilian with graying hair. He must have been Tirak, the senator’s chief-of-staff. He gave Garak a conspiratorial stare. Garak did not even hear the man enter; leaving him to wonder how long Tirak had been spying on him. “Have we met before?” the Cardassian jovially asked, hoping to ignore the reality that he had been busted.

“You were a gardener,” Tirak answered, looking as if he was trying to remember a vaguely familiar, “at the Cardassian Embassy on Romulus years back.”

“You don’t say,” Garak retorted. “Perhaps we have met.”

“And now here you are Deep Space Nine as a… tailor.”

Definitely busted. “A tailor who seems to have gotten lost,” Garak replied heading for the exit. But Tirak stood in his way.

“You didn’t do a good job covering your tracks,” the Romulan hissed.

“Excuse me?” Garak asked, still sounding jovial in order to hide his apprehension at being caught. During a lengthy stare down, Garak began to wonder why Tirak didn’t just shoot him already.

“You and I have one thing in common,” Tirak said, with a wry smile. “Our dislike for the Dominion. Don’t worry, Mister Garak. I’ve got you covered. Vreenak has a misguided ambition. The only way to way to be rid of him is to create an unfortunate accident.”

Tirak then stepped aside, allowing Garak to leave. As he slowly sauntered out of the cockpit, Garak still could not help but question Tirak’s sincerity. And would Garak tell Sisko about this? The captain would probably feel obligated to prevent the “accidental” destruction of Vreenak’s ship. Garak decided to keep quiet, knowing he would need a Plan B if the recording that implicated the Dominion failed inspection. And if Tirak planned on him out to Vreenak, then certainly a Plan C.

Garak knew he could not trust the senator's chief-of-staff to do as he claimed. Upon returning to his tailor shop on the Promenade, he used one of his isolinear rods in storage to hack into the station's surveillance system. An image of the Romulan shuttle's cockpit appeared on a screen on his main work desk. Two other readout screens indicated the engineering section and the aft cargo hold. At least, having sneaked aboard the shuttle did pay off.

Using a second isolinear rod, the one he had transport aboard the shuttle, Garak entered a set of commands to transport an explosive into the ship's engineering section. Once it materialized in the engine room, a holographic appeared around it blending in with the nearby control stations. It was no ordinary explosive. It was similar to an explosive used by the Obsidian Order that could be prematurely set off by attempts to disarm it.

Vreenak held the data rod containing the forged recording vertically between his thumb and forefinger while seated in the command chair of his shuttle’s cockpit. That Starfleet had gotten its hands on something saying exactly what it wanted to hear in order the Romulans into the war seemed rather convenient. Who was to say Starfleet hadn’t altered the recording for its own benefit. He knew the Federation was desperate but not that desperate. He contemplated whether he really would expose this “vile deception” to the entire Alpha Quadrant. His dissenters in the Senate would probably say it was effort on his part to make his case for a cooperative alliance with the Dominion more convincing. Maybe he would hold onto the recording and use it to blackmail the Federation should the Alliance somehow win the war, yet still be left extremely vulnerable.

He was roused from his trance by the sound of an alarm on the main piloting console. Vreenak placed the rod in a wooden container and slipped it into a small storage compartment in the chair. “What’s that?” he asked the guard at the port station.

“An increase in the gravitational output of warp drive,” the pilot replied.

“What’s causing it?”

“Unknown. We ran complete diagnostics before we left Deep Space Nine. I’ll try to isolate the problem.” The pilot entered commands into his console, but that did not produce the desired. He sighed in frustration.

“What’s the problem?” Vreenak apprehensively demanded.

“Control circuits are fused. I’ll have to go down and do it manually.”

Tirak was observing the latest development from outside the port egress, making sure not to catch the attention of the guard standing watch on the other side of the entrance. Upon seeing the pilot at the port station head for the port exit, Tirak stepped aside. He knew he could not reach the adjoining corridors in either direction without being seen, so he needed some other method of escape. His body transformed into a shiny, gold-colored gelatinous material and blended in with the medium gray carpet.

Meanwhile, Vreenak looked over at the pilot at the starboard console. “Just as precaution,” he instructed, “slow us to half impulse.”

The remaining pilot attempted to comply, but he was getting no results. “Controls are frozen,” he gasped in frustration.

Vreenak looked around the room wondering what would become of his ship and whether his impeding was only a matter of minutes. Was this Sisko’s Plan B? he wondered. The Federation did not resort to political assassinations, but that was most likely during peacetime.

Tirak was standing at the engineering controls hoping to make sure the ship’s destruction was carried out when the primary pilot arrived. “You shouldn’t be here, sir,” he told the civilian.

Tirak turned around and shot the Tal Shiar officer with a projectile disruptor, quickly sending him to the deck. Tirak then turned back to the console. A readout screen indicated a core implosion in thirty seconds. This was the Changeling’s plan all along while he was in the guise of a Romulan. He had hoped to plunge the Romulan people into a devastating war as retaliation for the Tal Shiar’s role in the failed attack on his homeworld. His calls for more direct action during the Founders’ infiltration of the Federation and other Alpha Quadrant powers had too often fallen on deaf ears. He had then set out on his own to manipulate key government officials. True, the Federation and the Klingon Empire would have a better chance of winning the war with the Romulans on their side. But whatever the outcome, all three of those powers would be in much of a position to threaten the Great Link and a great number of Romulan and Cardassian would still result.

As time was running out, the Changeling-Romulan morphed through the ventilation system from which he previously entered the engine room. He quickly made his way through the fuel exhaust system to the outside of the ship. Morphing into a slug-like space-borne lifeform, the Changeling sped away as the Romulan shuttle collapsed in on itself.

“Forensic scans of the debris revealed no sign of the senator’s remains.”

Suran testified before the Senate revealing his findings regarding the sudden mysterious destruction of Vreenak’s shuttle. Senators Irrawik and Cretak seemed the most intrigued by this bit information the commander revealed. They were the most vocal opponents of the non-aggression treaty with the Dominion. Now the biggest supporter of such an arrangement was killed while returning from a diplomatic meeting with the Dominion. “Are you suggesting Vreenak was a Changeling?!” Cretak interjected.

“We can’t say for certain,” Suran replied, his voice echoing throughout the large and spacious chamber. The slight time-delay generated by the Senate session’s transmission on the planetary communication network also created an echo in the chamber most noticeable to the junior senators in the back of the room. “All we do know is that the senator’s shuttle was destroyed during a return trip from Soukara as the result of an increase in the warp core’s gravitational output well beyond safety limits.”

“This was information obtained from warbirds you dispatched against the senator’s orders,” Neral chimed in.

“Nevertheless,” Suran tersely replied, hiding his annoyance that the proconsul should reference a minor act of insubordination, “the information obtained in the wreckage is quite galling.”

Once Suran entered a command on a data padd, a three-dimensional holographic display filled the area between him and the proconsul. The display was of a Cardassian meeting room occupied by a Vorta, along with several Cardassians and Jem’Hadar. Suran was not sure he believed the contents of the recording when he first played it, especially since he recognized the Vorta as Weyoun; the Dominion representative Vreenak had met with. Vorta, of course, were notorious for their guile and treachery even towards the Jem’Hadar they commanded.

“And with the Cardassian Fourth Order protecting their flank,” Weyoun proclaimed in the recording, “the Twenty third Jem'Hadar division will begin its thrust across the Glintara Sector. They should begin the invasion of Romulus itself on the following day. Once we've taken the homeworld, organised resistance will crumble when outlying systems and colonies begin looking out for themselves. Consolidation of the entire Empire will take three months at most.”

All the senators and the proconsul gazed and in awe as Weyoun presented a plan of attack against their homeworld. Suran had a good idea what Irrawik and Cretak were discussing between themselves. To those two, Vreenak’s assassination at the hands of the Dominion seemed a fitting end for with an unquenchable thirst for power and fame. To Suran, a lot of things still didn’t add up. How did Vreenak get his hands on such an incriminating recording? And according to the warbird commanders, Vreenak had gone off sensors for a single Earth solar day. Maybe it had something to do with Tirak, the man who had aroused Suran’s suspicions from the day he became Vreenak’s chief-of-staff.

At the next day’s Senate session, an overwhelming majority had voted in favor of declaring war on the Dominion. The dissenters had cited the convenience of various events from a faulty data recording thoroughly detailing plans for an invasion to the Federation’s desperation for a new ally to turn the tables in the war. But with Vreenak now out of the picture, their arguments did not carry much wait. Those in favor of war argued that they could take the risk dismissing such evidence no matter how faulty the recording.

A Bajoran civilian engineer sat at a cargo shuttle’s pilot controls. He looked at the results of the final diagnostics of essential systems before departure to Deep Space Nine. While glancing at the readouts, he handed a manifest padd off to his co-pilot, who then headed to the aft cargo hold. Unbeknownst tot the pilot, Sisko was skulking towards the cockpit along the side of the craft.

The pilot continued to look down at the diagnostic results as Sisko swooped in on him, injecting a sedative into his carotid artery. Sisko then slid the Bajoran man’s unconscious body out of the cockpit. “Come on,” Benjamin whispered. Runold tiptoed behind him and stepped through the shuttle entrance. Sisko handed the burly Trill his hypospray. “You take care of the co-pilot,” he instructed. “I’ll go over pre-launch.”

His partner in crime walked into the aft cargo hold to incapacitate the other pilot. Sisko looked nervously over both his shoulders. The undercover assignment was hard enough. Any criminal acts on his part were to achieve the goal of learning this Trill terrorist organization’s connection to a group of rogue Klingons while on a mission sanctioned by Starfleet Intelligence. Now he was off the clock helping the man seeking retribution simply for the safety of his family. Regardless of the legal consequences, Benjamin wouldn’t have it any other way.

He prepared a brief message for station security, and then quickly encrypted it as he was hearing footsteps. Runold slid the unconscious body of the co-pilot through the cargo entrance, out of the cockpit, and into the landing bay.

The runabout Delphi streaked into warp once it cleared the station. Elias Vaughn manned the primary piloting controls while Ro conducted quick system checks at various stations throughout the cockpit. When she arrived at the starboard station behind the secondary pilot seat, she tried to avoid the taunting glare of Zeyner. He grinned at her from the corner of his eye. He grinned at her from the corner of her eye. She gritted her teeth while breathing heavily.. He recognized that disarming stare all too well, that let him know she would not be fooled by him again. His grin became a smirk as if to say, “We shall see.”

“We’ll reach the Denebian corridor in four hours,” Vaughn said as Ro took the seat next to his. “That’ll get us to Nimbus in three days.”

Ro was hoping not to hear that part: three days in a runabout with an ex-lover with whom she was not on good terms. “I still don’t see why we couldn’t take the Defiant,” she said curtly. “The trip would be faster, and we could incinerate any Ku-Vok-leth encampments in a matter of minutes.”

“It wouldn’t be that much faster,” Vaughn retorted, even knowing the Defiant’s maximum warp speed would make the trip by just two days shorter. “And of course Bajorans were on the receiving end of the Cardassians wielding such a blunt instrument.”

“Besides,” Zeyner interjected, wanting to cross his arms in front of himself before remembering his wrists were once again in restraints,” the Klingons or the Romulans would say the most advanced ship in Starfleet violated neutral space.”

Ro scoffed, both at hearing Vaughn’s appeal to pity and at Zeyner having the gall to mouth Starfleet platitudes. Zeyner ascended from his seat and skulked over to Ro’s seat. “You, of all people, should know when not to go in guns blazing,” he added.

“Stay out of this, Zeyner,” Ro sneered. “I just want to get this thing over with and exchange as few words as possible.”
“All right,” Zeyner half-heartedly relented, raising his cuffed hands in front of himself. “But just so you know, I’m going in alone to meet this contact.”

“The Fire Caves will freeze over that happens.”

“Then we may as well turn back. He doesn’t trust those uniforms of yours.”

“That’s why you’ll be doing all the talking,” Vaughn chimed in. “We’re still keeping a close eye on you.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” Zeyner replied, heading back to his seat.

“And at the first sign of treachery,” Ro began to say.

“Lieutenant,” Vaughn interrupted. He looked away from her wondering if letting Ro accompany this mission was a bad idea. Of course, time was of the essence if his hunch about Omega was true. And there was no turning back now.

Zeyner, meanwhile, sat back in his seat, and stared up the starboard side viewport. He gave a conspiratorial smile, wondering how long Ro would follow up on her promise to ignore him as much as possible.

In the absence of Commander Vaughn and with the Defiant idle, Ezri Dax was the station’s acting second-in-command She was at the main Ops console monitoring communications traffic and consulting with a male Bajoran officer when Captain Kira entered from her office. Dax handed off a padd to the subordinate officer, who then sauntered away.

“A Federation prison ship will be here in three hours,” Dax told Kira. “It’ll be escorting Kalon to Starbase 621 for a hearing.”
“I’m sure you’ll be glad to have him off the station,” Nerys replied with a grin.

Ezri was almost frowning when she said, “No kidding. Thinking of him creates more disturbing images than memories of Joran that still resurface.”

“The crazy host who killed a Symbiosis Commission doctor?” Kira asked, squinting curiously. She leaned backwards on the control panel next to Ezri’s as she crossed her arms.

Kira’s body language reminded Ezri of the heart-to-heart discussions Jadzia had with her. Ezri’s relationship with Nerys did take a similar path, despite feelings of awkwardness once in a while from both of them. In Ezri, Nerys saw both Jadzia and an insecure and neurotic young adult. And Nerys to Ezri was both a dear friend and a less familiar “family friend.”

“Every so often,” Ezri said of a mentally unstable individual who had been a host to the Dax symbiont for six months even though the Symbiosis Commission went to great lengths to conceal that fact, “I still get flashes of memories that were Joran’s. As much as I hate to admit, he had more in common with me than any other previous hosts. We both hadn’t exactly planned on being joined.

“Verad, on the other hand, he’s almost a megalomaniac. I still feel his almost suicidal sense of inadequacy and how he overcompensates with a misguided desire to make the world a better place.”

“Is this the therapist you were before the joining talking?” Kira teased.

Dax gave a glib smile, not sure whether to be amused by that remark. “Benjamin said the same thing before he went back to Bajor, saying something about who we once were always being a part of who we are now.”

“He may have a point,” Kira offered, slipping into the stool, so that her gaze met Dax’s. “You’ve started to become more than the sum of your parts, but some of these major life changes are an effort to prove you’re just as worthy as Jadzia and all the other hosts.”

Dax did not know what to make of being psychoanalyzed, and in much the same way Sisko was scrutinizing her. And now Kira was coming close echoing Worf’s appraisal of her. She gave Kira a perturbed glance as if saying I know what you’ll say next. “Worf went as far as to say I’m married to the job now,” she said, rolling her eyes as if to dismiss what people had been telling her recently.

“Are you?” Kira asked, knowing the answer and expecting its opposite.

“Of course not,” Ezri scoffed.

“Julian might not agree. The problems in your relationship coincided with your self-exploration.”

“Julian? Seriously? We both wanted different things out of the relationship. And maybe it was a product of his leftover feelings for Jadzia…”

Nerys raised a hand to stop her friend in mid-sentence. “Now that’s just an excuse,” she insisted. “It’s commendable that you might make captain before you’re thirty. But you should know there’s more to life than career. Julian was the first one you pushed away. And I know you and Benjamin hardly keep in touch.

“We know you’re not Jadzia. We all know you. Ezri. You are still Ezri Tigan even with the Dax symbiont. That person is every bit as important as your efforts to live up to the Dax legacy.”

Dax was about to answer, but Kira’s words soon rang true. She thought back to all the awkward silences with Sisko in the runabout. Maybe it wasn’t just Benjamin. Maybe she was starting to see her closest friends—Jadzia’s friends—as small fractions of the three hundred sixty year lifespan of the Dax symbiont. “I suppose maybe you’re right,” she relented.

Jonas Escobar sat behind the desk in the security office. He was reviewing transporter protocols for moving prisoners from a holding cell to a prison ship when Dax stepped into the room from the Promenade. He gave her a wide smile that reminded her of when he was getting on her nerves on the Defiant. Ezri just gave a half-hearted grin to hide feelings of awkwardness while present in an official capacity.

“The prison ship will be here in an hour,” she said in a calm and professional tone. “How are the security arrangements coming along?”

“I’ve tied the cell’s forcefield in with the transporter,” Escobar replied. “Once the forcefield goes down, Mister Nog will be able to initiate a near-simultaneous transport.”

“Good,” Ezri deadpanned, trying to avoid any awkward silences. “Speaking of Nog, he finished the diagnostic on the targeting scanners ahead of schedule. You’ll be glad to know everything checks out.”

Jonas nodded nervously, somewhat at a loss for words. The tension that filled the room was reminiscent to Ezri of when neither she nor Julian could work up the courage to discuss a possible romantic partnership. Furthermore, Escobar’s easy-going nature reminded Ezri of Julian’s annoying ebullience when he was fresh out of medical school. But that was Jadzia Dax he had an eye for. Though having Jadzia’s memories, Ezri couldn’t say she would respond to the doctor’s advances the same way Jadzia did in those days.

“Good,” Escobar stuttered. “I’d hate to have to bridge our transporter with the prison ship’s. We can never get the Starfleet and Cardassians systems to work well together.”

“Quite a challenge,” Ezri nervously blurted out. As is trying to let Escobar down easily, she thought to herself taking small steps backwards towards the door.

Seeing that Dax was about to leave, Escobar decided to come out and say it. He stood up and circled the desk as a way of saying there was no turning back now. This was his best chance; one that would never come again. “Are you available for dinner?” he asked. “Tonight or tomorrow night. Or maybe drinks in Quark’s.”

“I’m not sure,” Dax replied with an embarrassed blush. He projected an air of confidence, but not after he downgraded his offer. His approach was identical to Julian’s when he first asked out Jadzia. Maybe Julian was fascinated and intimidated by Jadzia all those years ago. The same was true of people who showed romantic interest in Ezri since her split with Julian. Those thoughts were mildly amusing to Ezri, but she kept it to herself not wanting to hurt Escobar’s feelings even more.”

“Yes or no,” Jonas persisted.

“To what? Dinner or drinks?”

“One’s a date, the other isn’t,” Dax teased. “You’re free to join Julian, Nog, and me next time we all get together.”

I see Escobar thought. He drooped his shoulders and sauntered back behind the desk. The one name that stuck out from that invitation in his mind was Julian Bashir’s. “That’s what it’s about,” he said in a surrendering tone. “You’re worried about hurting Doctor Bashir’s feelings.”

“No,” Dax insisted. “That’s not it at all. I’m still trying to make sense of who I am as a joined Trill. That’s especially difficult for me when I never expected to be joined. I don’t want to place that kind of burden on anyone like I did with Julian. It’s nothing against you, Escobar.”

They both exchanged awkward smirks. Jonas still felt unburdened knowing he had at least tried. Ezri also felt a huge weight lifted off her shoulders as well, not that she wouldn’t have to think of a way to turn Jonas down in a manner that saved face for both parties.

Sisko and Runold sat at the piloting controls of the cargo shuttle, quietly staring out of the front viewport as it crept closer to Deep Space Nine. Benjamin contemplated how many of his former colleagues he would have to incapacitate in order to break Verad out of confinement. Luckily he hadn’t needed to do so during the undercover mission. But how long would that luck hold? This operation would mean impeding a criminal investigation into a terrorist threat within the Federation. He had done his part already by learning Verad’s connection to a group of Klingon renegades. All he cared about now was that his family was safe.

Sisko took another glance at the readout screen, indicating the maximum limit of the station’s short-range sensor capabilities. A blip on the left side of the screen indicated the shuttle was nearing that threshold. “Once we’re in their sensor range, “ he explained to his Trill copilot, “I’ll alter course into one of the sensory blind spots. It will be tricky maneuvering.”

“Can’t we just dock where this thing’s supposed to go?” Runold inquired.

“Someone will immediately become suspicious when the pilots fail appear. They’re probably not expecting this shuttle for another couple hours. This should buy us some time. You’re not very good at being a terrorist are you?”

Runold wanted to deck Sisko for that jab, remembering how he antagonized him on Torman Five. But then Runold thought that Benjamin couldn’t pilot the shuttle and nurse a sore jaw at the same time. As much as he hated to admit, they both needed each other to make sure he had his revenge on Verad. “Hey, I do what I can to help a cause I believe in,” the Trill retorted. “Verad betrayed that cause. He’s going to pay.”

“And I just want to make sure my family is safe. I was as involved the operation’s failure as much as Verad was.”

“Fine. How will we get aboard if this thing doesn’t have its own transporter?”

”I’m working on tying in the ship-to-ship communications with the station’s own transporter. We’ll end up in a docking ring cargo bay where no ship is docked.”

“Those Nausicaans are listening in on us. If we end up anywhere other than that cargo bay, your son gets it.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Sisko and Runold materialized in a dimly lit cargo bay. A number of different shaped cargo containers were arranged throughout the bay. Runold quickly recognized a standard Cardassian transporter platform with a few of Starfleet’s aesthetic modifications It still used a Cardassian materialization effect, which caused him some minor vertigo. A quick visual survey of the room, he was indeed in one of Deep Space Nine’s cargo bays. “Let’s roll,” he instructed Sisko, stepping off the pad.

Worf removed the phaser from his holster. Across the catwalk on the upper level of the Enterprise-D’s engineering section, a Klingon Defense Force officer held a phaser to the engine core. He was one of two Klingon officers rescued from a derelict freighter. Korris and Konmel had then revealed to Worf that they had clung to the old ways and even destroyed a Klingon vessel dispatched to apprehend them.They had been taken aboard. Ship’s security had placed them in custody for them to be turned over to Klingon authorities. They had soon escaped. Konmel was killed in an ensuring firefight, but Korris reached the engineering section and threatened to destroy the ship if he was not given the vessel’s star-drive module. He had then demanded to speak to Worf.

The Enterprise-Dwas in its first year of regular service, and Worf was serving his first year on board. For most of his life, he had been a Klingon living amongst humans. As a child not yet having reached the Age of Ascension, he had been orphaned following the Romulans’ massacre of the Khitomer outpost. He was adopted by Starfleet petty officer Sergey Rozhenko and his wife Helena. Upon reaching his eighteenth year, the age of consent for humans, he had enrolled in Starfleet Academy. He had rarely interacted with fellow Klingons in the intervening two decades. These two Klingons aboard Enterprise had stirred up desires in Worf that had been long suppressed. Worf had even failed to reveal these Klingons’ political views. He would come to regret his silence, yet he had thought then that he could keep quiet as long as these renegades did not harm any of the crew. With Korris now threatening to destroy the ship, his decision was obvious.

”Wait,” Korris gasped. “I do not believe this.”

”Believe it,” Worf confidently stated, feeling in no way conflicted at the thought of having to shoot a fellow Klingon.

“I have tasted your heart.,” Korris insisted, his arm trembling as he kept his aim at the warp core. “You have been with them, but you are still of us. Do not deny the challenge of your destiny. Get off your knees and soar. Open your eyes and let the dream take flight.”

”My brother, it is you who does not see. You look for battles in the wrong place. The test of the warrior is not without; it is within.” Indicating his heart, he continued, “Here, here we meet the challenge. It is the weaknesses in here a warrior must overcome.“

”No.”

”You have talked of glory and of conquest and legends we will write.”

”Yes, the birthright of every Klingon.”

”Yet in all you say, where are the words duty, honor, loyalty. Without which a warrior is nothing.”

”What are you saying?” Korris asked, tiptoeing closer to Worf. “Living among these humans has sucked the Klingon heart out of you.”

”Put down the phaser,” Worf once again demanded.

”You are a sham! My words were dust upon the ground. Your blood has no fire. You are weak like them. I don't care what you look like. You are no Klingon!”

”Perhaps not,” Worf sneered, firing his phaser. Korris’s hulking figure then tore through the glass floor and he fell down on the main level.

It would not be the last time he had been forced to choose between the Federation and the Empire. “I am a Klingon,” he insisted to the Klingon officer who had temporarily served as 1701-D’s first officer as part of the Officer Exchange Program. “If you doubt it, a demonstration can be arranged.”

Kurn had then revealed himself as Worf’s younger brother. He wanted to be sure that Worf had the Klingon warrior instinct before enlisting his help in defending the family’s honor. Worf had later withdrawn the challenge to allegations that Mogh was the traitor at Khitomer to protect the corrupt and powerful House of Duras. More than a year later when Gowron was named chancellor, Worf had backed Gowron in exchange for the restoration of his family honor. He had even resigned from Starfleet to fight alongside Kurn in the ensuing civil war.

Worf would once again be ostracized when Chancellor Gowron had planned to invade Cardassia under false pretenses. Gowron had already withdrawn the Klingon Empire from the Khitomer Accords when he had asked Worf to join him. Worf summarily refused. Kurn had been dismissed from the High Council as a result of Worf’s defiance. And all of the House of Mogh was outcast once again.

“You regret,” Kurn hissed when he visited Deep Space Nine. “What’s next, Worf? Do you want to apologize to me? How many human weaknesses will you display?”

Rather than carry out the ritual killing of a family member, Worf had Doctor Bashir erase Kurn’s memory and provide him with a new identity. Kurn was now Rodek, son of Noggra and weapons officer of the Gorkon.

“Are you part of my family,” Rodek had asked Worf prior to his departure from DS9.

“I have no family,” Worf solemnly replied.

While the alliance between the Federation and the Empire was eventually restored and Worf was taken into the House of Martok, he was still no longer in Gowron’s good graces. That was most apparent when Gowron had taken over control of Klingon Defense Forces fighting in the Dominion War in a cowardly vendetta against Martok, a growing hero in the Empire. Gowron had sent Martok off into one unwinnable battle after another to humiliate his perceived rival.

“If you were a true Klingon,” Gowron said when Worf had finally spoken out against his dishonorable motives, “I would kill you where you stand. Fortunately, that child’s uniform shields you from your rightful fate.”

Worf ended up killing Gowron in honorable combat. Under tradition, that act made Worf the chancellor. He chose instead to instill that honor on Martok. Martok’s advancement to the chancellorship did spark another civil war after the Dominion War, which resulted in the destruction of the Great Hall and the deaths of many members of the High Council. While Martok and his supporters were victorious, this latest assassination attempt was an indication that the chancellor still had major enemies in the High Council.

Worf was on a quest to avenge his brother and see the cowards who had perpetrated this dishonor brought to justice. Still, he could not ignore that he was also a Federation ambassador seeking to influence Klingon politics. He then recalled what Ezri had said while still uncertain about whether to act against Gowron.

“How many times have you had to cover up the crimes of Klingon leaders because you were told it was for the good of the Empire? I know this soundsharsh, but the truth is, you have been willing to accept a government that you know is corrupt.”

The sound of the doorbell to his VIP quarters interrupted Worf’s meditation. He stood up from his kneeling position and walked over to the entrance. “Enter,” he said.

The double doors parted and General Grelik stepped inside. He sauntered over to the desk, setting down a padd that contained crew duty rosters. Worf leaned forward to grab it, but Grelik yanked it back as he sat down. “The crew is willing to cooperate with your investigation,” the portly general said. “My question to you is whether you consider the investigation to be a conflict of interest. You have used your position as a Starfleet officer-- and now as a Federation ambassador-- to manipulate Klingon politics. I’m not too sure Starfleet and the Federation would be pleased if the situation was reversed.”

“Let me tell you, first of all, General,” Worf defensively replied, “that I am acting as a brother of the House of Martok, not as a representative of the Federation or Starfleet.”

“Of course,” Grelik answered, raising a hand. “Given your role in the installation of the last two chancellors, some of the crew who know your history and my contacts in the homeworld may believe you are again looking to advance a Federation agenda.”

“You can tell the crew and your contacts on Qo’Nos that I will not be using any Federation resources outside of the Embassy. And this is not about political manipulation. This is about seeing the cowards who ordered the assassination attempt brought to justice. They are as much to blame as the terrorists who carried out this disgrace. Someone on the Council had to have informed the Ku-Vok-leth of Martok’s trip to Deep Space Nine. And someone on this ship must have bypassed the security systems protecting the chancellor’s chambers.”

“That is why I will be questioning security and engineering personnel on duty at the time of the explosion. I would suggest you remain discreet.”

Worf rolled his eyes and snorted while he leaned back in his chair. He had initiated this investigation and he had explained his intentions to the captain of the Sword of Kahless. Grelik was still insisting that Worf maintain a low profile. Many in the Empire had suspected Worf of acting on Federation interests when he killed Duras, supported Gowron for the chancellorship, and then slew Gowron once he deemed him an unsuitable leader. Worf’s assassination of a sitting chancellor served as a rallying cry for various factions seeking to upstage Martok. The ends he had sought to achieve here and now was more of a matter of family honor than politics. Grelik surely had his own motives.

“You will keep me apprised of your findings though?” Worf asked.

“Of course,” Grelik obligingly replied, ascending from his chair. He slowly walked towards the door with a sinister grin on his face.

Sulvek handed off a work order padd to one of his engineers after he approved it with his thumb scan. Shortly after the chief engineer of the Sword of Kahless dismissed his subordinate, he noticed the lights had dimmed. The ship had just cloaked.

Sulvek walked over to the master situation console a few paces from the compartment’s main entrance. Entering commands on the console, he accessed information on the current power consumption. The readout on the screen indicated that all power outputs were nominal. He grinned as if he could carry out something he was planning without arousing anyone’s suspicions. With a few more commands, the readout screen highlighted power conduits hooked into the cloaking device on the three-dimensional display of the ship.

He headed for one of those power transfer conduits that was rerouting power from other systems to the cloaking device. He removed an access panel to reveal one of the power transfer conduits. He disconnected of the wires positioned horizontally across housing and plugged it into the socket on the top. He did the same with two other wires in the hope that would create a minor glitch in the cloak’s masking effect.

A rippling appeared across the cloaked Sword of Kahless from stern to bow. The rippling momentarily revealed the hull of the ship, which would have attracted the attention of any ship that might have been in sensor range.

Nimbus Three
The Valdore entered orbit of Nimbus Three. A few cargo shuttles and work bees were moving about the upper atmosphere of the planet. Nothing unusual. The Valdore assumed a low orbit near the planet’s southern magnetic pole as far away from the regular traffic as possible while continuing to run continuous active sensor sweeps of the planet’s surface.

Commander Donatra sat in the command chair nervously fiddling with a piece of metal with a gemstone in its center and staring at the viewscreen with the stoicism of a Vulcan. She took occasional glances at Centurion Regol, while he patrolled the bridge. He hovered over the tactical officer, looking for any signs of apprehension from his commander.

“Anything in orbit is a jumble on the sensors,” replied a senior uhlaan at a secondary sensor station. “I’m in the process of calibrating the lateral arrays for full sensor sweeps of the surface.”

Donatra turned to face the senior operations officer on her left. “Set the cloak’s power output at twenty percent of normal,” she told a young woman whose hair was arranged in a non-traditional, but still military-regulation compliant, coiffure.

The officer nodded in acknowledgement, while the order caught Regol off guard. He heard her mumbling, “If he’s following us, that should throw him off a little.”

“If who is following us?” Regol curiously inquired even though he knew she was referring to Suran.

“You needn’t concern yourself with that,” Donatra calmly replied. To the operations officer, she added, “Maintain full sensor sweeps and report any unusual subspace activities no matter how insignificant.”

Donatra then took a long look at the gemstone housed in the circular piece of metal in her right hand. It was part of a bracelet bearing the family crest of the House of t’Rllaillieu. To Donatra, it symbolized the efforts of her foremother Ael t’Rllaillieu to restore mnhei’sahe to the Star Empire. For nearly three centuries, the Romulan leadership had abandoned any semblance of its long-standing code of honor through proxy warfare and secret experiments with highly destructive weapons declared illegal in every interstellar treaty. It was a philosophy that resembled the Earth philosophies of hedonism and psychological egoism. A Romulan acted for the good of his or own honor. But such a concept was utterly meaningless if one was willing to act dishonorably for one’s own mnhei’sahe or for the Empire’s.

Her actions in the near future and those of her former mentor would determine the future of the Empire’s mnhei’sahe.

The Tiralihaan held station in the Nimbus system’s Oort cloud. On the bridge, Suran entered from a port egress. Centurion Bralek was supervising the work of sensor technicians at two port auxiliary stations. He joined the commander, who seated himself in the command chair, to provide a status update.
“Sir, incoming standby message,” Bralek reported. “The Valdore has assumed orbit over the planet’s southern magnetic pole. The cloak is at partial effectiveness.”

“Interesting maneuver,” Suran mused aloud. Orbiting over a planet’s magnetic pole was a common maneuver to hide from sensors. So use of a cloaking in that scenario was redundant. But with the Valdore’s cloak apparently only partially effective, Donatra must have known Suran was following her.

Normally, welcoming an officer in the Exchange Program aboard qualified as diplomatic function. So that meant the welcoming committee would be in full dress. Various circumstances on DS9, however, had the top ranking officers too occupied to observe a relatively minor protocol to the letter. Dax was to be supervising Verad’s transfer to a prison ship arriving within the hour. Kira was taking communiqués from her superiors and assuring Klingon diplomats that the comatose Chancellor Martok was in good hands. Of course, Bashir had to keep a close eye on Martok in case any unexpected problems took place.

The three of them were still able to take time out of their busy schedules to welcome a scientist from Martosia Prime. Prynn Tenmei was also present as the station’s incumbent science officer. The airlock was already open for a docked transport, but the guest of honor had not yet disembarked. The welcoming officers exchanged awkward glances amongst each other.

“Relax,” Kira told the others. “He’ll be here. And the prison ship doesn’t arrive for another hour.”

“Plenty of time to carry out all the security arrangements,” Bashir added, noting Dax’s look of anxiousness in her eyes. “Otherwise Lieutenant Escobar will understand.”

Ezri rolled her eyes and snorted derisively. “What are you talking about, Julian?” she snapped.

“What are you talking about?” Julian teased. He gave a wry grin, then looked away form his ex after seeing she was not amused.

A tall man who dwarfed all four of the welcoming officers by nearly a foot stepped through the airlock. He had to arch his head downward and crouch down slightly to get through the doorways. His head was completely hairless except for free flowing ponytail down to his waist. Elliptical ridges were on his cheekbones to his ears. By his own choice, he was dressed in a Starfleet uniform with a blue science department collar. His forehead was adorned with a blue trapezoidal tattoo separated into four pieces similar to a coat of arms with varying family crests.

Kira arched her head upward, trying to hide her intimidation at the man’s large stature, mirroring that of a Capellan. “Welcome to Deep Space 9, Doctor Muren’Thol,” she said calmly. “I’m Captain… ”

The group exchanged grins to hide their annoyance at his lack of social graces. Kira then introduced the rest of her officers. “Lieutenant Dax. Doctor Bashir. And Lieutenant Tenmei, who is relinquishing the science officer position to you.”

Ardolis looked down at Prynn, oblivious to her forced smile. “You are relieved,” he said dismissively.

“Would you like to be shown to your quarters, sir?” Tenmei asked.

“I am here for my expertise in subspace technologies,” Ardolis replied. “I am ready to begin work with you and your chief of operations.”

He strutted down the corridor, leaving the other four officers exchanging eye rolls and quiet sights. This was one of those times they had to remind themselves of differences in social conventions among various races.

“Not very chatty,” Bashir muttered.

Ardolis later held a briefing on new detection methods for tracking down subspace explosives. Kira, Nog, and Tenmei were in attendance in the ward room. Ardolis explained a sensor schematic of a freighter containing contraband subspace weaponry that had been recently seized displayed on the monitor screen across from the head of the meeting table.

“Martosian sensors are equipped with high frequency magnetic wave-guide pallets,” he explained. “That way the patrol vessels were able detect minute inertial displacement patterns in subspace. We were easily able to track down the vessel’s course, as well as determine how many subspace warheads were in the Son’a cargo holds.”

“How long should modifying our own sensors take?” Kira asked Nog.

“Twelve hours, sir,” the petite Ferengi engineer answered nervously. He had learned to overcome his general fear of saying the wrong thing to a superior officer. Everyone in the room could tell he was stuttering, perhaps because of his small stature compared to that of Ardolis’s. “That’s including additional modifications to the Defiant and the remaining runabouts.”

“You’ll also be interested to know,” Ardolis added, “that the gravimetric specifications to your torpedoes are most effective in neutralizing the particle shockwaves and minimizing the damage to subspace. However, noticeable residue is still evident.”

He shot Kira a long and sharp glance, suggesting to her he knew more than he was letting on. “With enough of these residual particles, one could, in theory, new subspace particle warheads.”

“We should look at increasing the yield of the gravimetric torpedoes,” Tenmei offered. “A seventy to eighty isoton yield should do the trick.”

“Get on it,” Kira said. “And forward these specifications to Vaughn and Ro. Any other word from them yet?”

“At last report, they should be at Nimbus Three in two hours,” Nog answered.

“Very good. The three of you will oversee the modification to the sensors and the torpedoes. Dismissed.”

Nog and Tenmei slowly saunterd out of the meeting room, keeping light grins directed at their newest colleague. Ardolis just maintained a blank expression on his face. He waited until the other officers had left and turned to face Kira.

“This ‘subspace weapon’ you are tracking is Omega,” he said with an accusatory stare. “Is it not?”

Kira sighed and took a few moments to consider her next words. “Computer, disengage all recording and surveillance devices in this room,” she instructed. “And set up a level two acoustic dampening field. Priority authorization Kira two-six-seven alpha.”

After the computer chirped, Kira looked straight ahead at Ardolis. “What do you know about Omega?” she curtly inquired. She had a brief hunch that the Martosians had acquired Omega through the methods Ardolis had described in the briefing.

“My people have conducted our own research on what you call Omega,” Ardolis candidly replied. “We have yet to achieve the creation a single Omega molecule. It would go a long way towards helping my people heal the wounds of the last five years.”

Kira gave a light nod, knowing the Martosians, like the Bajorans, were a former subject race of the Cardassians. Of course, history had not been as kind to Martosia as it had to Bajor. During the Klingon invasion, the Martosian liberation movement had gained momentum eventually resulting in achieving political independence. A year later, when Cardassia became a member of the Dominion, one of Dukat’s first official acts as the new Cardassian head of state was to request that the Jem’Hadar laid waste to Martosia Prime. The Founders then agreed with Dukat’s reasoning not to annihilate the entire population in order to “teach them the price of disloyalty.”

“I’m sure your people are aware of the destructive side effects of even one Omega molecule,” Kira said, still finding the man’s rumbling voice intimidating.

“That is why our research has not proceeded very far. I am well aware that your Omega Directive supersedes even the Prime Directive. But understand that there are those in my government who would still refuse accept any interference on your part.”

“Is that a threat?” Kira retorted, finding the irony of a subordinate resorting to diplomatic posturing mildly amusing. “If you know of the Omega Directive, surely you know Starfleet rules of conduct.”

“I say that only because such interference could potentially undermine our efforts towards Federation membership.”

“Of course,” Kira said with a light grin, hoping to elicit a similar expression from Ardolis. He still maintained his cold, but collected, stare that reminded her of a Jem’Hadar.

The capital city of Nimbus Three was abuzz with activity. The small shops and cafes, along with the various alien races passing through reminded Vaughn and Ro of Deep Space 9’s Promenade, only more chaotic. They had both changed out of their uniforms in order to look less conspicuous. Vaughn was dressed in thin dark gray trousers with a matching short-sleeve shirt and light jacket. Ro wore a modest navy blue jumpsuit and gray jacket, and even left her earring behind. Zeyner had observed Ro’s tendency to wear their people’s earring on the left ear as opposed to the right ear. Not that it mattered to him since he hadn’t worn one in nearly fifteen years.

The Starfleet team and their passenger had to dodge one Nausicaan chasing another down the dank and musty streets. A shopkeeper chased off a dissatisfied customer while shouting in an indistinguishable alien language. Now that I think of it, this place is more chaotic than the Promenade, Vaughn mused. He could actually remember a time eighty years ago when this locale was named Paradise City. Nothing about this city evoked thoughts of a paradise. The heat was scorching. The air was stale and dry. If anything, one of Dante’s nine circles of hell more accurately described this place.

“He owns a shop right this way,” Zeyner said, indicating an enclosure on his right that, from outward appearances, resembled an antique shop.

Ro removed a hypo-syringe from her jacket pocket. She grabbed Zeyner’s right wrist and injected a microscopic device between two of the arteries. “Sub-dermal communicator,” she explained. “Any attempt to remove the transponder will automatically activate the runabout’s transporter.”

“Still want to meet this guy yourself?” Vaughn asked.

“He’s never met either of you,” Zeyner insisted. “He wouldn’t know whether or not to trust you.”

Zeyner stepped into the shop, which had various antiques on shelves throughout the one room enclosure. The carpet on the floor had been shredded in several places. Pieces of broken ceramic plates were on the floor left unattended. A Tarakalian male stood behind a counter in the back of the main room staring at Zeyner suspiciously, almost as if he was hiding a fugitive in the back storage area.

“I’m looking for Tao Verin,” Zeyner said with a greeting nod. “Is he here?”

“There’s no one here by that name,” the Tarkalian replied with a hissing whisper.

“Tell him Antis is here,” Zeyner attempted.

Without another word, the Tarkalian walked through a half open door connecting the main room to the storage room. Zeyner took a few nervous paces as he waited, seeing Vaughn and Ro peering through the window. He softly waved them away when he heard footsteps advancing back towards the door. He diverted his gaze back towards the Tarkalian who reemerged through the door.

“Mister Verin can see you now,” the Tarkalian told Zeyner.
Outside the shop and a few feet down the street, Ro scanned the area ahead with a tricorder. The readout screen indicated that Zeyner’s sub-dermal locator was functioning properly. Ro then tapped a listening device in her ear that allowed her to listen in on Zeyner’s discussion with his contact while at the same time not attract the attention of passers-by. “How’s yours?” she asked Vaughn.

“All systems go,” Vaughn replied.

Ro then took another look at her tricorder and pushed a few buttons to scan for any new alien life signs. “There’s a Thallonian in there all right,” she said of the scan data. “At least he’s honest about that much.”

“Let’s head around to the back,” Vaughn said. “We’ll get a better look at what’s going on.”

A tall and muscular humanoid male sat behind a desk in the storage room working a padd. He had long unkempt black hair, breaking with the common practice of Thallonian males shaving their heads. Zeyner last remembered him when he had just a braided ponytail hanging from the back of his otherwise fully bald head. But that was before the fall of the Thallonian Empire, five years earlier. He still recognized the man’s stern dark eyes and thick cheekbones.

“I see the refugee lifestyle hasn’t been kind to you,” Antis teased.

“Antis,” Tao roared happily. He rose from his chair and circled the desk to greet his old friend. “How long has it been?”

“Three years at least,” Zeyner replied, as they embraced.

“Last I heard from you, your cover on Deep Space Nine had been blown.”

“I escaped from prison a month ago.”

“Then you came to the right place. The local authorities here can be bought and bribed at the right price.”

“I also need information. I’m told the Ku-Vok-leth’s attempt to assassinate Chancellor Martok is part of something bigger. I want in on it.”

Tao scoffed as if feigning ignorance of any other Ku-Vok-leth activities. “I have little interest in Klingon politics,” he snorted. “How did you hear of an attempt to assassinate the chancellor?”

Outside in the alley, Ro was peering through a partially shattered window covered mostly in dirt and grime. She grew worried when she saw Zeyner at a loss for words. If he could not answer, this whole sting operation would be a total failure.

“The man I sold the Deep Space Nine schematics to double-crossed me once the explosives were smuggled aboard the Sword of Kahless,” Zeyner lied. “He told them my role in this.”

Ro gave a sigh of relief. Her relief that the operation was not yet compromised lasted for a very brief moment when Tao asked, “But how did you know the Neo-Purists would use that information to carry out an assassination attempt? You sold Kalon the schematics two years ago.”

“Verad contacted me shortly after my escape,” Zeyner coyly attempted.

“Before you knew he was a double-agent?” Tao asked with increasing suspicion.

“Of course,” Zeyner insisted. “I figured he or someone in the Neo-Purists sold me out once Starfleet spotted me here on Nimbus unusually quickly.”

“Or you could be part of Starfleet’s trap,” Tao suggested, removing a phaser pistol from a holster on his right hip.

“Damn it,” Ro grumbled. “We have to abort.” She removed her hand phaser from a side holster underneath her jacket and pocketed her tricorder.

Before Vaughn and Ro got one step towards the door, Tao cried out in pain and fell forward onto the floor. Zeyner dodged the hulking man’s falling form by jumping aside. A huge burn mark was on his back, indicating a sniper had shot him.

Ro pointed towards a window three stories up on the building across the alleyway. “Came from up there,” she said. “He wouldn’t have got a clear any higher up. Any lower down, and he’d have seen us.”

Ro sprinted through the storage area and out into the main room of the shop. She saw a door on her left that had been forced open and deduced that Zeyner had gone through that emergency exit. She slowly walked through the door to find the bottom of a stairwell. A door at the bottom of the stairs that remained shut, so he was headed for the roof.

At the top of the stairs, Zeyner kicked open the door leading to the roof of the building. He scouted out the sky for any air vehicles while leaning against the wall perpendicular to the door. He had managed to grab Tao’s pistol before he made a run for it. He placed the tip of the pistol against his right wrist and fired a quick burst hoping to short out the transponder. He cried out in pain from the discharge, but it was well worth it.

That scream did get Ro’s attention, and she was soon standing near him pointing a phaser at him. “Didn’t think you’d get away from me that easily,” she teased.

Zeyner gave an embarrassed smirk. “I thought I’d throw the sniper off,” he said. “If he wanted Tao dead, he probably was after me.”

“But why did you short out the locating transponder? I think you tipped someone off so you could escape.”

Vaughn made his way up to the roof of the building from where the sniper was believed to have been. He looked around immediate vicinity, but he saw no one else, or any departing air vehicles. The sniper could have just beamed out, so that meant this chase was futile. He was about to consult his tricorder when he was a saw a hooded humanoid on the roof of a nearby building. At his advanced age, he was in no way able to overtake this person. With his phaser, he fired a warning blast in the humanoid’s direction.

That caught the humanoid’s attention, and he stopped to fire his phaser. Vaughn slipped behind a vent enclosure jutting out the top of the roof to dodge the blast. He peered over and continued firing in the humanoid’s general direction. The humanoid continued laying down cover fire.

Vaughn jogged over to the edge of the roof once his target’s back was turned to him. He was close enough to get a clearer shot. While the humanoid was attempting to force open the door, Vaughn aimed and fired incapacitating his target. He then walked over to the unconscious humanoid, hoping to get some answers from him.

He flipped the body face up to see the sniper was a male human of early middle age. And he was dead. But how if Vaughn’s phaser was on stun? Perhaps he had triggered some kind of suicide implant. That was a possibility after Vaughn saw a black leather wrist cuff underneath his light overcoat.
“Vaughn to Lieutenant Ro. Any luck finding Zeyner?”

“I’d call that an understatement,” Ro quipped. She was still pointing a phaser at the man while escorting him back down the stairs. “We’re Tao had a personal database of some kind that will shed some light on all this.”

“That’s our best hope,” Vaughn replied. “Our sniper’s dead. I wouldn’t be surprised if he triggered a suicide implant. He’s wearing the official uniform of Section 31.”

“Section what?”

“When you accompanied Julian and Ezri to Sindorin two years ago to stop a human augment from unleashing a legion of Jem’Hadar loyal to him. Doctor Ethan Locken had broken away from an organization code-named Section 31. They’re a rogue organization that operates behind the scenes to counter threats to the Federation.”

“That would explain a lot. Ro out.”

She then shot an accusatory stare at Zeyner as they continued walking down the stairs. “Are you a member of this Section 31?” she demanded. “That would explain how they knew we would be here.”

Zeyner snickered. “Do you and Vaughn hear yourselves? A rogue organization that operates behind the scenes? And when would I have gotten the chance to contact them?”

“Perhaps they let you take the fall when you got caught.”

“Oh, please. Do you read a lot of Earth crime stories? The very idea that such an organization could exist within the Federation is ludicrous.”

“Maybe so. But clearly, there’s more going on here than Klingon fanatics hoping to make a political statement.”

The two Bajorans reentered the storage room of Tao’s shop at the same time Vaughn came in through the back door. The three of them gathered around the desk in order to access the desk monitor. Ro entered a command decrypting the file lockouts that appeared almost immediately after Vaughn had activated the monitor. She then instructed the personal computing unit to run a search algorithm for relating to planned Ku-Vok-leth terrorist attacks. Within a minute, the needed information appeared on the screen.